#i took their heights into consideration and my god ->

[talietikasero]

i need to stop adding to the wip pile but for now can i interest you in a new trio [id in alt]

[be a friend and give the fic i'm writing that features them a read here]

#i took their heights into consideration and my god -> #aria is so tiny compared to them #presumably she's 5'5 where sol and nago are 6' and 6'9 respectively #i'll finish this one day (maybe. don't count on it) #my art and doodles #wip #nat.csp #art for my fic #the blue smiley represents how i wrote them as friendly rivals and tag partners #guilty gear #what would be a good br/ot3 name for them? solarinago? #aria hale #sol badguy #nagoriyuki

[dottores]

HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part.

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui & fontaine, dottore's past includes webtoon mindset.

notes: okay y'all i know I gave u a choice over what u want to see int he next chapter but free choice is only an illusion & mother knows best & I took ur wants into consideration & decided against it bc I had a rlly great idea that can only be implemented in this chapter bc there would be no other opportunities for it later on. but im rlly happy w how some of these scenes came out so hopefully u guys are too.

RISE OF A KING, FALL OF A QUEEN

This again. 

You wanted to frown as you found yourself in a large room akin to a chamber with a tall, dome-like ceiling and marble pillars that stretched the height of the room. You were sat in a chair, wooden and creaky, and you could feel the cold shackles wrapped around your ankles without even looking down to see them for yourself. 

There were six figures sitting before you, each on large seats that reminded you of Chief Justice Neuvillette’s back in the Fontaine courthouse. Even the air was similar--damp and heavy, it made your skin crawl.

He was on trial, you put together quickly, but for what? And… where?

There wasn’t much in your line of sight besides the six people sitting in front of you. No, that’s not right. You could see a few more figures from the corner of your eye--they were armed with swords and polearms, tense and ready to act. They wore uniforms of some kind but you couldn’t make out what they were from, you didn’t recognize them. 

“Three hundred years,” one of the men in the six seats spat out. “It’s been three hundred years since the sages have had to gather for a situation like this. This should have been handled before it escalated to this, Sayid. He no longer brings shame just on the Kshahrewar Darshan, now he brings it upon all of us. This has gone too far.”

Sages, Darshan, this was the Akademiya. These were the Great Sages. The people lining the wall were the Matra.

“Attempting the forbidden, interfering with natural evolution, delving beyond the universe--three sins that he has committed and somehow this is still a discussion,” another voice--a woman this time--added on.

You thought that he should have felt anxious, upset, or even offended by the accusations but you could feel nothing. No tug at your heart, no feeling of your stomach dropping, just a cold and empty void where there should have been emotions. 

“It is a discussion because there’s not yet any proof of the sins having been committed,” a tight, male voice rebutted. “What say you, Zandik? Will you defend yourself or just sit there silently?”

Zandik. That was his name--only now you could remember, though it felt as if you had never even forgotten it.

Your lips moved as he responded, voice apathetic and dismissive: “There’s nothing to say… as you said, there is no proof of sins that I have to defend myself from.” His lips pulled up into a thin smile as he spoke, one that unnerved you and you couldn’t even see it. From the expressions on some of the people sitting in front of you, they were just as unnerved as you were.

“He doesn’t even care, Sayid,” the first man hissed. “He won’t even address the accusations laid against him.”

“Sins are not the issue at hand,” a new voice spoke up, voice low and heavy. “We are here to discuss what happened to my Dastur in the Apam Woods.”

Finally, a reaction from Zandik. He raised his chin in response to their words, a feigned attempt at confidence but you could feel the discomfort that began to stir within him--the unease. Somehow you knew that whatever he had been told he was called here for, this had not been it. They had caught him off guard.

“What is there to discuss about that?” Zandik asked. His voice sounded the same as it did before--indifferent, perfunctory--but you could feel the way his heart was beating just a fraction faster than it had been before, you could feel the way his shoulders had stiffened. “It was an unfortunate encounter with a group of Rishboland Tigers. Tragic and should have been avoidable but one of the other trainees had forgotten to set up incense to ward them off.”

“Yes,” one of the men agreed with him, “so the official report says.”

You felt restless as if you wanted to bolt from the room and hide… or he did, for the most part, but some of it was your own. You had attended enough court sessions at Fontaine’s court to know exactly what your soulmate was being accused of… and you had seen enough guilty defendants to know that the accusations were likely not far off from correct. 

Did he…?

“Yes,” Zandik agreed slowly, “because that is what happened.”

“Is it?” The man who initially changed the topic questioned. “The coroner has released to us the official report of Dastur Sohreh’s death. There were multiple trauma wounds… lacerations and contusions on internal organs… hemorrhage… but the fatal injury was a wound on the throat--a fractured hyoid bone caused by strangulation. You were the last person seen with Dastur Sohreh, were you not, trainee?” 

“Sharnama,” a woman’s voice warned but the man only held up his hand, silencing her, waiting for Zandik to respond. 

Zandik did not respond. You could feel the way he was scrambling for an answer, an explanation. You could feel how his heart was racing, how his body was tense. You could feel his anxiety and the realization dawning on him and it all made you sick to your stomach. 

What did you do? You wanted to scream at him. Why did you do it?

As if they could hear your questions, the man continued. “Dastur Sohreh reported to me several acts of insubordination while you were under her tutelage--three times in which you acted without her authorization and brought risks upon the investigation team and an encounter with a ruin hunter in which you insisted on bringing the machinery back to the Akademiya to be disassembled and reverse-engineered, which I personally had to reprimand you for and had you removed from the author list of the investigation’s research paper. When did that happen in regard to Dastur Sohreh’s death, trainee?”

“A week,” the words were frigid and biting as Zandik finally spoke up. “It happened a week before her death.”

“Yes,” he drawled, “that was it.”

“I had nothing to do with her death,” Zandik said. 

You thought you had gotten good at being able to tell whether or not people were lying. You spent three days a week in the court audience watching trials but you were in your soulmate’s body and you could not tell whether he was lying or telling the truth about murdering someone. His heart was racing and there was a twitch in the corner of his lip--the telltale signs of a lie but they could just as easily be a result of the anxiety stemming from being accused of murder. 

(You wondered, distantly, if you were just making excuses so you didn’t have to face the reality that had so suddenly been thrown at you. You had enough experience in court to differentiate the guilty from the innocent.)

“I suppose we have no way of proving that… so you are not at threat of imprisonment,” was his only response but Zandik was not at ease by those words, as if he knew exactly what was coming next. “But with reasonable suspicion of your involvement on top of the allegations regarding your research violating three sins provides grounds for expulsion… assuming it is a unanimous decision.”

It was a question cast to the other five seated in front of Zandik. You noted how Zandik seemed more anxious at the prospect of expulsion than he did at being accused of murder and you weren’t entirely sure how to feel about that. 

“Sharnama,” the only woman amongst the six spoke again, “you mean to make us the first council of sages to expel a student in centuries. The last time-”

“He murdered my Dastur, Anisa,” Sharnama snapped in response.

“I did not-” Zandik’s voice rose, harsh in defense of himself but he was cut off sharply.

“Enough from you, you had your chance to defend yourself,” Sharnama said, tone laced with venom.

“Sharnama is harsh but… the trainee has had a reputation since his time as a student,” one of the other men agreed after a few moments of silence. “His methods and theories… his interest in Khaenri’ahn machinery… It makes people uncomfortable.”

“Discomfort is not grounds for expulsion, Isami, but regardless, we cannot just dismiss all of these allegations. Should any of them prove to be true and it comes out that we knew and did nothing about it…”

“It would tarnish the integrity of the Akademiya,” the woman, Anisa, agreed quietly. “Sayid, Khalil?”

“This should have been handled when the accusations of him infringing upon the laws and rules our predecessors set up first came about,” one of the men said and you could feel Zandik’s throat spasm as he swallowed, panic beginning to set in. 

“... Sayid?” Anisa pressed after a few moments of silence.

And you could feel it. You could feel that small, minuscule bud of hope begin to bloom deep in Zandik’s chest as he shifted a wild gaze over to the sage called Sayid. You had a decent understanding of the structure of Sumeru’s Akademiya after having looked into it because of your suspicions about your soulmate, you supposed this man was the sage of whatever Darshan Zandik was a part of--Kshahrewar, you remembered one of the other men mentioning before.

Zandik trusted Sayid to defend him, you could feel it and you could feel the way his face fell and the way his stomach dropped when Sayid looked away from him, as good an answer as damning him aloud as Sharnama took his silence as agreement, waving his hand for the matra to take him.

You didn’t think Zandik even registered what had happened until rough hands were forcing him to his feet, starting to drag him from the room, and then, finally, the rage hit--bitter and deep, overwhelming. 

“Over rumors and false allegations,” Zandik spat out, hatred dripping from every word. “You’ll expel me for that?”

He got no response besides the harsh words of one of the matra urging him along but he struggled against them with every step, even with fingers digging deep into his biceps, bruising his skin, he was undeterred.

“You sages can’t even fall in line with the very virtues you set out to preserve,” he seethed, “and the sins that you deem so treacherous are just an excuse to chain anyone whose convictions do not fit your standards because you fear that a change in our way of thinking will displace your power.”

You had never felt anything like this before. This feral fury that had your blood on fire and your brain melting of coherent thought--uncontrollable and unquenchable, a type of bloodlust that shook you to your core and scared you because you could feel yourself angry too and you weren’t sure if it were remnants of Zandik’s rage spilling to you or not and you hated how you were being so influenced by his emotions that you couldn’t tell what was his and what was yours anymore.

“You’re going to regret this,” Zandik shouted as the matra pulled him through the doors of the chamber. His words, the sages’ words, they all echoed in your head over and over again--all of the accusations, his reactions, and you wondered what it meant and how much of it was true and you wondered who he was not for the first time and certainly not the last. “You’re going to regret this!”

He didn’t even bother to try the tricks he attempted last time--searching for something to read, yelling, blinking, he knew none of it would work and he wasn’t the type of person to make the same mistake twice. 

The room he was in--she was in--was large and enclosed with an overwhelmingly sweet and sickly flowery scent that made his stomach churn. He had always hated floral scents and this was beyond anything he had ever smelt before. 

And there were too many people. There were too many goddamn people. They were packed in seats before where his soulmate was sitting, they were lined up around the room as if they were waiting to do something, there were so many that the line was even pushed out two double doors, flowing into the hall.

What was going on? 

Dottore couldn’t tell. His soulmate was facing the crowd of people--there was something behind her, he could tell that much. He couldn’t see any flowers so he assumed that whatever that scent was, was coming from behind her. 

There was a man standing next to her--an older one with a cold, unfriendly expression and thick build. He watched as a woman approached the older man, disgust curling in his gut at the snot-faced expression painting her face, wide teary eyes and trembling lips as she reached for the man’s hand. Dottore wanted to step away, draw back and leave before the woman could set her eyes on him but alas, he was not in control of his body--her body--again. 

The more he thought about it, the more odd this was. The last time he had witnessed her past through dreams, her emotions had been loud and intense, deafening. It had him spiraling because he couldn’t understand what he was feeling and he couldn’t tell if he was feeling it or if it was her.

Now, it was empty. There was no joy, no anxiety, no fear or sadness; just a cool void, reminiscent of how the past week and a half of silence from her had felt. Dottore wondered if that was why Celestia was forcing him to sit through another sequence of dreams--punishment for trying to push her away.

Succeeding in pushing her away, he corrected silently, there was an odd pit in his stomach at the thought. He should be happy, he had been worried that not even a direct strike against her persistence would deter her but he had found success in the first attempt. 

It was what he wanted. He no longer had to deal with the frequent tugs on the thread. He no longer had to deal with the fluctuating emotions. He no longer had to deal with the good mornings and goodnights and the incessant questions. 

The past week had been the most peaceful and productive he’s had ever since that damned string appeared and yet somehow, he was not happy. 

It was what he wanted, he repeated but a part of him felt as if he might be trying to convince himself of it.

Around him, people were talking. He could see their lips moving and he could hear the words leaving their lips but they were unintelligible and garbled, it sounded as if they were underwater and only speaking half a word at a time, combining them to create words that didn’t make any sense. He couldn’t read their lips, no matter how hard he tried, it just looked as if they were speaking a foreign language. 

The woman who had been talking to the older man now turned to his soulmate. Instantly, dread was rocketing through him--he knew what was about to happen and there was simply nothing that he could do about it. 

Thin arms wrapped around her, tighter than he thought it would be and he wondered, hatefully, if his soulmate was some agent of Celestia sent to make his life a living hell. Three times now, he was forced to experience something through her that made his skin crawl. First, he was tossed around through that winter storm because she made stupid decisions. Then he was slapped. And now, there was a woman clinging to him, sobbing and speaking words that he couldn’t even understand and all he could do was stand there and let it happen because that’s what she was doing.

It took far too long for another woman to come along and drag her off. Dottore was livid, if he looked to the side, he was sure he would see snot on his soulmate’s shoulder and he could still feel bony arms digging into her sides.

He wasn’t sure how long she stood there. It felt like an eternity and only a few seconds somehow at the same time. People were passing by her in slow motion but they were gone in an instant. Dottore was distinctly unsettled, it felt like someone was fucking with his head, forcing him to perceive things wrongly. 

Eventually, his soulmate was approached by someone new--a younger man with dark hair and purple-red eyes. He ignored the older man to her side, everyone else had stopped at him first and then moved to her but he had beelined right to her. 

Something didn’t sit right in his stomach about that.

Dottore braced himself as best as he could as the other man reached out to grab his soulmate but instead of pulling her into a hug, he only grabbed her forearms, leaning his head down to say something that Dottore couldn’t understand again. 

He was undeterred by her lack of reaction, trying again and again and again. Dottore had half a mind to bash his head in and tell him to leave, fed up by this whole situation. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't seem to escape this. When he thought he finally succeeded, he was dragged right back in by Celestia and their fucked up games. 

Then, at last, Dottore could hear again. His soulmate was snapped out of whatever daze she had been in and noise exploded around him: scraping of chairs against the ground, mindless chatter, a violin muted in the background, slow and mournful. 

A funeral. 

For who? 

It had to be someone close to his soulmate from how they were all approaching her and suddenly, he was reminded of that night all of those years ago during the event where Pantalone was being officially promoted to Harbinger. Father, branded right on his forearm. He had yet to get a look at his soulmate through a reflection--he wondered if this was the funeral.

Most of the chatter was sympathetic, talking about the deceased and reminiscing old times… but not all of it was. He could hear whispers of men talking about what this could mean for the stability of the court, eyeing up the new opportunities that came with this death, some sounded excited rather than melancholic, like hyenas feasting on one of their own.

“There you are,” the young man in front of her said with a small smile that made Dottore frown. “Ignore all of them, they did the same thing when my grandfather died. Came to the funeral under the guise of mourning just so they could see if there was any instability for them to leech on. There wasn’t then and there isn’t now.”

“There isn’t?” his soulmate spoke for the first time--her voice was hoarse and empty, the only sort of emotion was a dull sense of doubt. “All they talk about is how I’m too weak to take over for my grandfather. They say a woman is unfit to be warden.”

“If they saw the way you could work your family’s-” he began loudly.

“Wriothesley,” the older man standing next to his soulmate said, a warning written all over his face.

“Sorry,” Wriothesley said, looking away.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” his soulmate said after a few moments of silence, voice quiet. “The instability is right in front of everyone’s faces. They can all see that they’re not here, Wrio.” 

Wrio, Dottore thought to himself spitefully once he heard the nickname.

Wriothesley looked irritated at her words, glancing once at the older man again before speaking back up, “They didn’t show up at all? Your mother? Siblings? To your father’s funeral?”

There it was. Finally, a bit of emotion from her. She was hurt at his words, he could feel something pinching at his chest, a dark and unwelcome feeling but for some reason, it made him feel a bit more at ease after the past week of silence.

“They were busy,” she said quietly but Dottore could tell that she didn’t even believe the words herself. Neither did Wriothesley, if the expression on his face had anything to say about it. “They were, Wrio.”

Dottore wanted to roll his eyes once he heard the nickname again but instead, he distracted himself with what she had said. He thought back to the previous dreams he had of her past--being left behind by her mother and stepfather while they went to town, the argument with her mother and the slap… somehow, he wouldn’t be surprised if she had chosen not to go. 

Wriothesley scoffed loudly, loud enough to draw the attention of some of the other attendees. “They’re despicable,” he spat out. “Especially that skeevy, rat-faced-”

“Come, Wriothesley,” a middle-aged man who looked just like the younger man said sharply, interrupting him before he could finish his sentence. “This is not the place for this topic. You can speak to your betrothed another time.”

Dottore blanched. 

Betrothed?

Blood. 

That was the first thing you noticed. The thick, nasty scent of iron was all around you--around him, whatever. It was disgusting, overwhelming. You wanted to throw up, you thought that if you were in your own body, you might’ve passed out but you were in his, Zandik’s, and he was totally unbothered by the smell. 

Something was wrong with your eyes--that was the second thing you noticed. You had no peripheral vision, the only thing you could see was his hands resting on the lab table in front of you, fresh and dry blood staining his skin, dripping to the floor below. 

He was angry, the third thing you noticed. You could feel the rage curling in his gut; his nails digging into the table, grinding against the metal. You couldn’t figure out what he was angry about and you weren’t sure if you wanted to know because you had a distinct feeling that it had something to do with the blood on his hands and the lab table.

Zandik finally moved, an awful scraping sound meeting your ears as his nails dragged against the metal when he pushed off the table. He paced up and down the length of the room, muttering to himself. 

“Everything was right.”

“What went wrong?”

“-was supposed to work, don’t under-”

As he turned, you could see something--some sort of machine laying across the lab table that hadn’t been in your line of sight before. You wondered if these were ruin guards that he talked about so much. There was something pooling around it; from the distance you were at, you thought it might be oil but Zandik turned on his heel to move closer to it and a sinking feeling formed in your stomach when you realized that it was not oil, instead it was a massive puddle of blood surrounding the machine.

What the fuck? You thought to yourself as Zandik stood in front of the machine, taking one of its arms in his hand. The metal somehow felt cool and hot at the same time, uncomfortable to the touch. You wanted to let go of it, there was blood coating the metal and staining his hands even more, but Zandik’s grip was tight around it.

Why was a machine bleeding? You were sick at the thought, hoards of horrible possibilities running through your head but you didn’t get a chance to dwell on any of them.

Zandik sighed, annoyed, jerking away from the machine again to pace. His head shook back and forth in a rough manner that started to give you a headache, he did it over and over and over again and you wanted to scream at him to stop. 

“This was supposed to work, Grand Sage,” he said, clicking his tongue sharply once, then twice, and then a third time. “This was supposed to work. I did everything right. Why aren’t you working?” 

Is he talking to-

Zandik marched right back toward the machine, much to your displeasure. The longer he stared at the automaton, the more uncomfortable you felt. You could tell that it had been modified in several places, disassembled and put back together but it almost looked as if… he had put something inside it? 

“Why aren’t you working, Grand Sage?” he repeated, humming to himself irritably as he tapped his fingers against the metal. “I even went out to fetch you a new core, you’ve always been so damn ungrateful, haven’t you? Everything I did for your Darshan and you still turned your back on me. Ungrateful, even when I’m trying to make you greater than man.”

-to the machine?

You wanted to wake up, you didn’t want to see whatever this dream was showing you. You wondered if it was some cruel joke the gods were playing on you by showing you this. Or maybe they were trying to help you, you considered. He had made his opinion on you clear and yet every day you were still tempted to reach out to him, maybe they were trying to help you move past him.

“Is this what you plan to do with yourself?” a low, unfamiliar voice spoke up suddenly from the opposite end of the room. 

Zandik was startled, heart racing and head whipping to the side as he snapped his fingers together. Instantly, there was a loud whirring machine coming from behind him, metal scraping against metal--the sound of an automaton coming to life. His gaze focused on a figure stepping out from the shadows of the corner of the room, tall with graying hair and a mask that covered the entire right half of his face.

“Who are you?” Zandik demanded harshly and finally, you caught sight of him through the reflection of a metal cabinet. Red eyes stared back at you through a mask that covered three-quarters of his face and short silvery blue hair that had blood dripping from the tips of his curls. “Who are you?”

“So much potential wasting away in this poor excuse of a lab,” the man continued, undeterred by Zandik’s hostility. An eerie feeling swept over you--you weren’t sure if it was you or Zandik becoming unnerved by the man, maybe it was both of you. “Don’t you want something more?”

“What are you talking about?” Zandik asked sharply, a scalpel clutched tight in his fist--somehow, you knew that it was no match for the man standing before him and you had a feeling that he knew that too. “Did the Akademiya send you? Who are you?”

“I came after hearing rumors of an expelled student performing heretical acts… So far I’m unimpressed.”

The anger that spread through him was like wildfire, consuming all rationality and any other emotion he might’ve felt. In an instant, the automaton that had awakened behind him was moving, launching across the room at a pace that had you reeling, blades slashing outward but then at once, it stopped. A cold silence took over the room, Zandik’s brows furrowed and his lips turned down as the automaton came to a stop, shutting down right before his eyes. 

“Interesting enhancements… but unchanged at its core, meant to be operated by those that created them, not a follower of the gods.”

“I am not a follower of the gods,” Zandik spat out violently, stepping forward before he paused as if reconsidering the man’s statement. “Meant to be operated… you?”

“Yes,” he responded, ignoring Zandik’s entire change of demeanor at his words. You thought you might feel even more unnerved now, at the excited feeling bubbling inside Zandik as he stared at the man, waiting for him to continue. “What are your goals, outcast?” 

Zandik frowned. “That’s not my name-” he began but was interrupted.

“If I cared for your name, I would have learned it. If you prove yourself useful, you will be given a new identity anyway,” he told Zandik. “Now answer me, outcast, what are your goals?”

Zandik didn’t answer for a moment, staring at him, but then he glanced back at the automaton still laying on the lab table, the pool of blood beneath it now larger. Luckily, his gaze didn’t linger on it for long. 

“I’m going to enhance humans so that we can rival gods,” Zandik said, raising his chin to focus his eyes back on the man. “What do you mean? Prove yourself useful? To whom? You?”

“Lofty goals,” was all he received as a response. Zandik bristled. “How do you plan to do that? With what resources?”

Zandik opened his mouth to respond but no words left his lips. Finally, he pushed out, “I’m making progress just fine.”

“Yes,” the man said dryly, his visible eye drifting over to the mess behind Zandik. “I can see that…”

You didn’t think you liked where this was heading. Zandik was still suspicious but now he was intrigued, ready to listen to this man and whatever he had to say, and you had a feeling that this man would bring nothing good.

“I can provide you with resources,” he offered. “Funding, rare materials… new test subjects. All of the finest and as much as you need.”

“What do you want in return?” Zandik asked.

“There is a war coming,” he responded cryptically, “and you are going to help prepare us for it.”

“A war?” Zandik asked, baffled. “A war against who?”

But you knew. 

You knew. 

It was the same war that had the Hydro Archon’s paranoia escalating. The war that forced you to hide your soulmark and thread your entire life, that had you looked down on and whispered about because you had to tell people you had no soulmate. The war led by the same organization that had sent your stepfather to Fontaine as an infiltrator, the man who had killed your father and ruined your life. 

At once, all of your nightmares and all of your worst fears came true. 

“A war against the gods.”

Betrothed?

Dottore was appalled, reeling at the knowledge that was just forced onto him. The scene shifted, Dottore was now in a smaller room kneeling in front of a woman that he recognized from the first dream he had of his soulmate but he couldn’t even focus on the situation at hand.

Betrothed?? 

Since when had she been betrothed? Dottore thought that would have been one of things that she mentioned when she was rambling on about her days at night. He thought it might’ve been something that was at least hinted at when she couldn’t control what words were being sent to him. 

“I have to leave, mother,” Dottore’s lips were moving as she spoke but quite frankly, he didn’t give a shit about whatever conversation she was having with her mother. The lack of emotions she was feeling left a vacuum that allowed his feelings to spiral and he was having trouble trying to keep control of them. 

He couldn’t even tell what the emotions rattling him were. He thought that he had become better at pinpointing emotions ever since he was forced to deal with hers but this was foreign--green and ugly, beyond just anger or sadness, stronger than anything he’s felt in centuries.

“You do not have to leave, you’re choosing to.”

Dottore thought he might feel insulted--disrespected, even, being given a soulmate only for them to be married off to someone else. Another cruel joke played by the gods to spite him, a cruel joke played by her to spite him. He wondered if this was her getting back at him for never responding to those goodnight tugs she always used to do: talking to him, trying to get him to fall for her trap and respond, only for her to be with someone else. 

“I do, I have to go. There’s something I have to do.”

He shouldn’t feel insulted, or disrespected. He shouldn’t care at all whether or not his soulmate was betrothed to someone else. He never planned on speaking to her. He never planned on meeting her. And he absolutely never planned to do anything about the bond forced on him by Celestia. In fact, this should make him feel better. It meant that there was less of a chance for her to reach out to him again if she was in a relationship with someone else. 

It freed him of her. This should be a good thing for him, so why was he so angry?

“You won’t even tell me where you’re going,” her mother snapped. “Best not be to the north, there’s only so much more I can defend you from peoples’ suspicions. They’re starting to ask questions.”

But it was not a matter of whether or not he should or shouldn’t care. It was the sheer audacity she had to keep reaching out to him when she was set to marry, or even has married someone else at this point. She was trying to play games with him and if there was one thing that Dottore couldn’t stand, it was someone trying to play games with him--be it the gods, other Harbingers, or some random girl that Celestia decided to tie him to. 

“It doesn’t matter where-”

“Of course, it matters,” the mother said, fingers digging into his soulmate’s forearms. “What am I to tell Her Excellency when she asks about where you went off to? The last thing our family needs is the speculation that would come along with people thinking you went off to Snezhnaya.” 

Finally, he felt something from her--something sharp and jagged tugging at her chest that drew him from his thoughts, an emotion he had become acquainted with through her intimately over the past few years: sadness, disappointment.

“Wow,” she said dryly, “that’s what you’re worried about. Suspicions against your family. Not whether or not I might be going somewhere dangerous.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” her mother said, livid. “Of course, I care about whether or not you’re going somewhere dangerous. I’m your mother.”

“I’m not going to argue with you,” his soulmate said after a moment, rising to her feet and pulling her arms from her mother’s grip. “You can tell the Hydro Archon I’ve left for Mondstadt.”

“Is that where you’re actually going?” her mother rose to her feet after her, taking a step forward, but his soulmate did not respond. Her mother’s face fell. “You’re going north, aren’t you?” 

Dottore finally focused on the situation at hand. North? But the only thing north of Fontaine was-

“Aren’t you?” her mother demanded. “You’re going to Snezhnaya? Why are you going there? To find him?”

Him. She must be referring to Dottore. But why would his soulmate come looking for him if she had…?

“I didn’t say that,” his soulmate shook her head, looking away out toward the window. It was a dreary day, dark clouds hanging low and rain sprinkling down to the streets below. “I told you to tell the Hydro Archon I’m going to Mondstadt.”

“Why are you going there? Why? Answer me,” her mother’s voice rose, eyes tearing up as she stepped closer to his soulmate. She stepped back, freezing her mother in place.

“Have you ever communicated with your soulmate through thoughts? The words that show up on your forearm?” she finally asked, tone harsh and accusing, a sudden change of subject.

Dottore paused, trying to put together what this might be about now. This was another reason why he hated these damn dreams, he never had any context behind what was happening and Dottore hated not knowing things.

“What sort of question is that?” her mother hissed, taken aback. “Of course-”

Her mother cut herself off suddenly, brows furrowing and lips twisting into a deep frown. Dottore could feel his soulmate swallow thickly, watching the reaction to her question. She had been expecting this and he wasn’t sure if it was dread or satisfaction pooling in her stomach--maybe both.

“Have you ever thought about why you don’t communicate through it? Have you ever tried and he just doesn’t respond? Do you try flicking your thread? Does he flick it back?” his soulmate let loose a barrage of questions and a creeping suspicion began to arise, wondering if she was implying what he thought she was.

“What are you trying to say?” her mother shook her head, stepping away. “Enough.”

“I’m not trying to say anything,” his soulmate responded, turning on her heel to leave the room. “But maybe you should think about it.”

She didn’t say anything else as she left the room and finally, Dottore could think.

She was accusing her stepfather of faking the bond with her mother, Dottore realized. But how would he do that? He knew people were capable of faking bonds through old magics but as far as he was aware that type of magic was all but lost… Dottore’s mind was suddenly racing, remembering all of the things he had forgotten in the last dream he had of her past: what he had figured out about the spy in the upper ranks of the Fatui and they had a spy in Fontaine, one of Arlecchino’s spiders and Arlecchino was capable of the old magic, and his soulmate was coming north to Snezhnaya so obviously she must have reason to believe that it had something to do with the Fatui, could it be-

Dottore felt a headache coming on. 

He had a feeling that this was going to be very, very bad.

You woke up with a sharp, shaky breath. Your hand flew to your chest as you sat up straight, reeling from what you had just experienced. Blood, anger, betrayal, hope--what could you remember? What could you remember?

You scrambled to the small table at your bedside immediately, grabbing your notebook and panicking to find the pen that had fallen to the floor. You dropped to your hands and knees, fumbling around in the dark until you found it beneath your bed. You didn’t even bother rising to your feet again as you made yourself comfortable on the floor so you could start jotting down everything you remembered.

A cold, empty room. Six people. Exile? Sins and virtues. Lots of blood. An automaton. Uncontrollable, sickening rage. An unfamiliar figure. War. 

War.

But what was the context? Your head was pounding as you tried to remember, you wondered if Celestia was warning you against trying to push too hard for information you’re not meant to remember yet. You didn’t care. You had to know. 

War. The rebellion stirring in the north. But what about it? What was the damn context?

You glanced down at your forearm, frustration pricking at you as the window above you rattled against the Snezhnayan winter storm. You could feel the freezing air even from inside the warm room with the fireplace burning on the opposite wall--it was unlike anything you had ever experienced before, the cold storms at the estate that you thought were the end of the world paled in comparison to this.

You wanted to yell at him, demand to know who he was and what he had done, beg him for the answers that you should’ve received by now… but you remembered the words scrawled across your forearm, the cruel words that cut deeper than any of the nasty words that had been spat at you by people throughout your life.

He did not care about you, you reminded yourself, you have more self-respect than this. Do not reach out to him.

You sighed heavily, arm dropping to your side as you stared back up at the window, watching a branch scrape against the glass over and over and over again. You were only on the Snezhnayan border but already you were feeling anxious--you had half a mind to turn back but the only thing stopping you was the memory of your father, the lust for justice, vengeance. You couldn’t turn back, not until you had all of the information you needed, not until you were sure you could return to Fontaine and have your stepfather imprisoned in the Black Cells.

There was a heavy feeling in your heart as you pushed yourself back off the floor, putting the notebook away and taking a seat back on the thin mattress of the inn you were staying at, the wood of the bed frame creaking beneath you. 

You had a distinct feeling that your journey to find proof against your stepfather would lead you to him as well.

He sat upright, eyes wild as he tried to figure out where he was. His heart was racing, anger was still flooding his blood, he breathed in and out deeply as he tried to regain control of himself. He was back in his lab--not dealing with any more of those god forsaken dreams. He wanted to spit out a string of vile curses up toward the gods but he refrained, trying to piece together what he could remember before the vague memories faded. 

He flipped over the parchment he had been taking notes on before he had fallen asleep, rubbing the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut as he pressed his pen to the paper and noted down all of the hazy details.

Flowers. Wrio? Betrothed?? Mother. Leaving. Snezhnaya. 

Dottore exhaled, gaze zeroing in on the third word of his list--betrothed. He glanced down at the thread connected to his thumb, inhaling deeply as an unfamiliar emotion began to churn inside of him. Before it could take hold, Dottore diverted his attention to the last two words.

Leaving. Snezhnaya.

What did that mean? What was the context? He couldn’t remember. Was she coming to Snezhnaya? Was she in Snezhnaya and leaving? Or did the two words not have any connection? 

No, they had to be connected. It was something important, he knew that much at least, but what? The answer was on the tip of his tongue and again that temper of his began to thin, what was the answer? What was the goddamn answer? Why was she coming to Snezhnaya? 

Should he ask?

The option rang damning through his head as he looked down at his forearm. She could be in danger if she came to Snezhnaya--the nation was becoming more and more antagonistic to outsiders, especially outsiders from Fontaine and Natlan and especially because of the masked hostile that was running through Fatui camps and slaughtering their underlings. No matter how much Pulcinella and Pantalone demanded that they take caution with outsiders, there was no telling what a heat of the moment reaction could lead to if there was a possible threat and Arlecchino had made clear that Fontaine was on the verge of becoming a threat to the Fatui. 

As he contemplated his choices, Dottore suddenly paused, another realization hitting him suddenly: if he had dreamt of her past then…

Then she dreamed of his past.

Dottore waited, staring at his forearm--waiting for the questions, the disgust, the horror. It was inevitable, he knew it. Last time, he assumed they dreamed of similar time periods of their life. Hers was when she was young, five to twelve years old between both dreams, he assumed; and the word he received from her was cursed, which was directed at him from when he was a child up until he was chased from the village at ten. And if the time periods were similar… that left his Akademiya and post-Akademiya era up as options for what she could have dreamt about, and neither of those periods of his life were particularly pleasant.

He waited and he waited and he waited… but nothing showed up on his forearm, not a question nor an accusation, no emotion spread through him that he thought might’ve been hers--just emptiness, just like it had been for the past week and a half. 

Dottore exhaled heavily, leaning back against his seat and staring up at the ceiling above him, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do with this and how he was supposed to make sure she didn’t get herself killed traveling through Snezhnaya.

The week and a half of peace was over and he realized, quickly, that it had only been the calm before the storm. 

rbs appreciated!

#dottore x reader #dottore smut #dottore x you #genshin x you #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x you

[emry-stars-art]

“He slid off his glove and offered his hand” oh my god yessssssssss mr darcy behaviour let’s gooooooo let’s touch them hands together boys let’s do it

maybe then Andrew will forget about heights and focus on his (future *wink wink*) eternal love, love of his life, soulmate, one true pair, confidante, friend, companion, heart’s desire, sweetheart, twin flame, mirror soul

his Abram

(I was giggling and swinging my feet while reading that part- they are so sweet your honour)

(Kinda wish you could have seen the little dance I did reading this ask lmaooo DARCY BEHAVIOR ABSOLUTELY. the boys get to hold handsss 😂 lets do it!) ⤵️

8 nov 2023 ww game

Find the royal au masterpost here 💕

The prince simply watched for a moment. The longer he was silent, the more worried Nathaniel became; maybe Day had been wrong. Maybe Nathaniel’s hands would once again be the exception, and he shouldn’t expose the prince to his scars at all.

But just before Nathaniel could take his hand back, the prince took it. He all but crushed Nathaniel’s hand in his grip as he swung his leg over and slid the considerable distance to the ground.

Safely on his feet, the prince didn’t let go. He ignored his horse’s stable hand in favor of lifting Nathaniel’s hand, turning it in his hold to see the back of it. All the worst scars, from the little burns to the small knife cuts, or other signs of the genuine accidents of living a human life. The larger ones carved into his skin. The long cut over the back of Nathaniel’s fingers in a neat line from when his father had once threatened to cut them off. All were healed, of course. But still obvious.

The prince ran his thumb thoughtfully over the last one, then barely spared Nathaniel a glance before dropping his hand and going to join the rest, who’d begun the walk back to the castle. Nathaniel stood dumbfounded, until a passing horse jostled him and he pulled his glove back on quickly as he followed.

#you guys are so fun​ i stg #still smiling like an idiot at this ask ty #HIS ABRAM. #poor andrew has NO IDEA whats coming for him lmao #my writing #aftg #all for the game #neil josten #andrew minyard #asks #royal au #emry wip wednesday

[bradshawsbitch]

Congratulations on the 300 followers 🥳 you deserve it! May I request ”Well this is awkward..” for Rooster? If not that then ”You’re jealous, aren’t you?” for Jake 🤩

Hey, thanks so much darling!!💘💘 I think I’ll go for Rooster, if that’s alright 🙈 and uh, oh my god I’m sorry it turned out so filthy!

Minors DNI - 18+

Warnings: SMUT! FILTH! Afab!reader, oral (f receiving), PinV, pet names!

Description: you, call sign Dove, have had a little crush on Rooster. Perhaps he’s had a little crush on you too, and it has pent up for quite a while.

It was sometimes hard, pretending not to have a ridiculous school girl crush on Rooster. You tried your best to hide it, but boy did he make that hard. You found yourself giggling at his stupid jokes, tucking your hair behind your ear as he talked to you - and sometimes you’d find yourself subconsciously mirroring his movements. It was embarrassing. Phoenix and Halo liked to tease you about it, especially after a couple of hotshots at the bar.

Rooster just was just impeccable in every sense of the word. He was sweet, funny, kind, and boy he was hot as hell. Flying with him was fun, and never stressful (not like flying with Hangman, he made you feel like you had Satan himself hunting your F/A-18). He was careful and methodical, and you admired that about him too.

In today’s exercise, you’d been his wingman - and unfortunately, he had been forced to save your ass from being ‘shot down’. You felt anxious about if he would be mad at you when you landed, so you’d spoken a soft “I’m sorry, Rooster” through the comms.

“It’s alright, Dove. What’s 200 more push-ups?” He sighed, but didn’t sound angry. You wrinkled your nose and offered to do half. He just laughed and said it was fine. So that’s how you found yourself staring at his sweaty, heaving chest as he sat down on the hard tarmac after his 200 push-ups.

You made some conversation about the exercise you’d flown, and he was really nice about you messing it all up. He said he knew you were an excellent pilot, and that everyone had an off day sometimes. That made your cheeks warm up considerably, and you felt abashed. You didn’t feel like you were, but you still thanked him. You watched as he rose to his full height, him patting your shoulder kindly as he said he wanted to cool down with a light jog (he was absolutely crazy).

Sighing, you laid down on the tarmac, covering your eyes with a soft groan before peeling yourself off the ground to hit the showers. You stopped on your way there for some water and a fruit, feeling a little faint in the heat. You took your time and slowly but surely made it to the locker room and the showers. It looked as if it was only you there, but you could hear a single shower running - so maybe Phoenix was still here washing off the day.

You started to undress, and only had your panties on when you heard a weird noise behind you that sounded an awful lot like “Fuck!” furrowing your brows, you turned around - only to be met by the completely naked form of Rooster.

“Oh, god!” You yelped, taking a little too long gazing at him before squeezing your eyes shut.

“Well… this is awkward” Rooster laughed “I forgot my towel…”

Fucking hell. The lord was testing you today. Bradley Bradshaw was going to be the death of you. You had your arms crossed over your chest, not being able to locate your towel with your eyes tightly shut.

“Y-you can borrow mine… uh, if you can find it by my things over here” you winced at your suggestion. Having Rooster closer to you whilst naked didn’t sound like a good idea. You bit your lip as you tried not to replay the vision of Rooster’s amazing body, little droplets of water running down his chest, down to his happy trail. God, you had known that he must be packing. And he was. Christ on a bike.

“Is it this pink, fluffy one?” You could hear Roosters purring voice near you, and you gasped at his sudden appearance. You hadn’t heard him move. You could only let out a high pitched “Mhm!” As you nodded your head. God his voice was lethal, and you felt your thighs clench together involuntarily. He seemed to do that to you. Make your body react so viscerally against your will.

“Are you okay, baby?” Rooster smirked, seeing you half naked had made his cock twitch. He’d wanted you for so long, and from the way your body was reacting - it seemed as if you might want him too. You let out another hitched breath of air at his words.

”Y-yeah, I mean— no, or— are you covered? Can I open my eyes?” Rooster decided to try his thesis. Being still mostly uncovered he said he was.

You opened those beautiful eyes of yours, and you noticed him standing so close to you, his broad chest right in front of you, and you did the unthinkable - you whimpered.

“Little dove, I think someone liked what they saw, hm?” He was full on smirking now, grabbing ahold of your chin to lift it so he could see your beautiful face. You licked your lips, barely being able to breathe as you stared into his handsome face. You whimpered again and nodded slowly. His smile widened. “That’s good, baby. I’ve been liking my view for a while as well…” he purred, his grip on your chin holding you steady.

“Can I touch you, little dove?” He whispered, his lips almost ghosting over your ear. A soft moan fell from your lips as you nodded, eyelids fluttering close as you felt warmth spreading through your core. “Need you to use your big girl words, my little dove” Rooster whispered, and you felt your knees grow weak as you almost collapsed into his chest.

“Y-yes, Rooster - please touch me!” You moaned, and as soon as the words were out of your mouth, Bradley’s lips ghosted over the warm skin of your neck, leaving small, teasing kisses. His big hands tugged softly at your crossed arms, asking if you would lower them for him. You didn’t hesitate for a second, letting them drop by your sides at his command.

“So beautiful,” Rooster murmured, kneading your breasts with both hands. Your head tilted backwards, a gasp drawn from your lips as he massaged and teased your breasts and nipples.

“Rooster,” you moaned, placing your hands on his strong biceps. He only smiled, bending down and connecting his lips with yours, eagerly wetting your lips with his tongue as he asked to taste you. You immediately obliged and sighed at the feeling of his tongue stroking against yours seductively.

Releasing your lips, he kissed his way down your neck, to your collarbone, and finally to your bare chest, latching his lips onto one of your nipples - sucking and licking you so good. This was when he let out his first pretty moan. Hearing a man moan was like hearing the angels sing, in your opinion, and it turned you on knowing he was enjoying this just as much as you.

“Is it okay if these come off, little dove?” He had kneeled down before you, and had his fingers near the edge of your panties. You licked your lips and nodded again. He narrowed his eyes at you.

“Y-yes, sir” you didn’t know where that came from, perhaps because of how he exuded dominance in the most delicious way - and his loud groan told you he liked it. He wasted no time in pulling your underwear down, grabbing your thigh and hoisting it over his shoulder, his mouth desperately tonguing at your core, kitten licking your clit, making you gasp and moan, your head falling back against the locker door. When his tongue started fucking you, you yanked hard on his hair and saw stars infront of your eyes as your orgasm crashed down on you.

“C’mere, pretty girl,” Rooster’s raspy voice commanded, as he picked you up with ease, putting your legs around his waist as he carried you. “We gotta wash you up,” he mumbled, stepping the two of you into a shower, shutting the drapes behind you. His mouth was soon on yours again, having you pressed up against the cool tiles, his large hands under your thighs as his body held you up. He switched the water on, groaning at the beautiful sight of the water trickling down your body.

“Please fuck me, lieutenant,” you moaned quietly and Rooster’s eyes fluttered close with a strangled groan “You catch on quick, pretty little dove,” he whispered, before fisting his cock once, twice, before he lined himself up and dove in, seating himself deep inside you.

“Fuck, you’re taking me so well” he groaned as he watched himself bottom out in you. You were panting, moaning, whimpering at the delicious stretch of him. He wasted no time, knowing someone could walk in at any moment, as he pulled out slightly before fucking back into you. His moans were so pretty, you never wanted him to stop. By now he was fucking you hard, fast and deep, his hands hoisting your hips higher to reach deeper into you. His hands helped you with the rhythm and you clung to him as if your life depended on it, a soft moan releasing from your lips as you heard the door of the locker room open.

“We have an audience, little dove. Are you gonna be a good girl and cum on my cock for me now?” Rooster whispered, and that was all it took for you to bite down hard on his shoulder to keep quiet, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as your second orgasm washed over you, clenching around Roosters cock as he fucked you deep, letting out a strangled groan as he too came, painting your insides with his warm cum.

He held you still, the water echoing in the space. He was still buried deep within you when you heard Hangman’s cocky voice say “Still burying your sorrows, Rooster?” And you thanked your lucky star he could only see Bradley’s feet.

Rooster smirked, huffing out a small laughter as he replied:

“Yeah, something like that” as he smiled at your flushed face.

#bradley rooster bradshaw smut #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #300 celly #idk where this came from omg #smut

[mordeiswrld]

Stu Macher x M!Reader

AHHHH MY FIRST REQUEST🤭🤭 OFC I CAN DO THAT FOR YOU- Admin Zjay🪷 (reupload since i deleted everything🥲)

Requested?: yes

Fic type: Headcanons (not sure of you wanted a oneshot or this but just let me know and ill redo it)

Time started: 5:34 AM

Character: Stu Macher x M!reader

A/N: this may be bad since i dont capture extroverted characters’ personalities as well as Introverts but ill try my best😁

Stu being...well stu never really put much thought into anyone being taller than him until you came that is

When he first saw you it was in his History class that, in all honesty, he wasnt paying that nuch attention in. Just off in la la land and fucking with the other students with his goofy antics

Then you walked in, silently. Having to duck a little since the doorways never took tall people into consideration

Upon seeing a big figure in his peripheral vision he snapped his head towards you and his brain LITERALLY stopped all thoughts from processing everything

He was just ASTONISHED at your size. He was so amazed that he prayed to the gods that his teacher would sit you next to him

Unfortunately for him, she didn’t but will that stop Stuart? Absolutely not

After about an hour of boring lectures about Wars the bell had rung and kids starting pouring out into the halls, running, screaming, talking and laughing and doing what normal Highschoolers do before they speed off to their next class

But not Stu, well, not right away anyways. He was looking for the new kid. You. He searched above everyones heads and then he spotted you. Taller amongst the crowd of teenagers. You made them look like ants. Stu loved your height it was a relief to finally have someone who is taller than he is for a change

He quickly ran up to you after he spotted you and tapped your shoulder. “Hey, you’re in my history class i wanted to ask for your name earlier but-ah...Ms.HasAStickUpHerAss would’ve lectured me for an hour straight and sent me to detention.” he chuckles as he scratches his head, trying to seem awkward

You laugh “Oh is that so? My name is Y/N, what’s yours?” you questioned back as you rummage through your locker to get your textbook. “Stu Macher at your service” he says as he puts on a fake British accent and bows before you as if you are royalty. You laugh again and close your locker, tetxbook in hand.

“Nice to meet you Sir Stu. But if you’ll excuse me I have to get to Math and that’s all the way on the other side of the school” you say in an already exhausted tone. Stu smiles and playfully wraps his arms around your shoulders or tries to, after 4 failed attempts he gets onto his tiptoes and tries it “i can walk you there” he says as he starts to steer you down the hall. “You sure? Won’t you be late to class? If not later than i will be?” you question but Stu just brushes off the question a careless scoff “pffft, I’ll be fine. I have Science and he barely even remembers my face so i’m not worried” he states as he unwraps his arm from your neck, gets off of his tip toes and starts to walk in front of you backwards

He walks you to your class and then after that, yall talk almost everyday you are like his new favorite person to mess with. And the height? Oh he’s definitely gonna tease you about it “hey! Hows the weather up their dude?” “Fe Fi Fo Fum says the giant Y/N” “shhh as you can see hea we have a woild Y/N in its Natural habitat” ‘STU I CAN SEE YOU BEHIND THAT BUSH’

After a few months Stu starts to notice his crush on you. His longing stares, the way he notices every little change and detail about you (the way you slouch to be the same height as everyone, the way you almost bump into every doorway, etc), how he likes to be around you, how he likes to be the short one for once, etc. He’s shocked to say the least, since your both guys and its not really “normal” for the same gender to date but he quickly gets over it because he can love whoever the fuck he wants and if someone has a problem with it? They’ll be hanging by their appendix the next day.

Stu sits on the idea of him having a crush on you for a few weeks all while acting the exact same way except a lot more physical. The noogies turn into him ruffling your hair gently, he asks for you to get things for him even though he can clearly get it himself, he compliments your height more often, the hugs become tighter and longer, and his touches linger. He can tell you feel the same but he isn’t sure but all he needs is a positive response...

A/N: lowkey dont know how to feel about this 🫢i hope you like it though!!

Time ended: 6:31 AM

#stu macher x male reader #stu matcher imagine #stu matcher x reader #stu macher #stu matcher fluff #stu matcher x you #stu matcher #scream headcanons #slashers x reader #scream 1996 #x male reader

[sailtomarina]

Is it safe?

Draco’s brow furrowed in consternation as he looked between Hermione and the contraption beside them. He didn’t want to back down after needling her for months about flying. She’d agreed to private lessons–with him as the only acceptable tutor, of course–as long as he indulged a single request.

Easy, right?

It should have been a no-brainer, multiple lessons without an end in sight for one, measly little activity. Then Hermione had to go and bring that into the picture.

“Is it…safe?”

He didn’t want to get any closer, but a larger part of him wanted to step in front of his girlfriend and what was obviously an instrument of death. He’d seen Muggle cars before, certainly, but not this up close and never, ever in his entire existence had he ever imagined that he’d be asked to get inside of one. 

“Please. Do you really think I’d ask you to risk your life, Malfoy?” she scoffed. She had the gall to stroke the car like he’d hurt its feelings.

Then he cocked his head and looked the entire thing over from end to end. Did it have feelings? Was it alive?

“Whatever you’re thinking, I assure you that you’re probably mistaken,” she continued, the beginnings of a smirk playing at her lips.

“Let’s make a couple of things clear. First, yes, I think you would risk my life after you accused me of doing the same to you every single time I took you up on my broom–stop! That wasn’t a euphemism!” He scowled at her peals of laughter, even as they warmed his chest. “Second, this wouldn’t be the only time I’ve encountered a sentient carriage. Now what?”

She bent over double, hands against each knee as she gasped for breath in between her laughter. “It’s just–oh, good gods–who even says ‘carriage’ in this day in age? What era are you even from, Lord Malfoy?”

He suffered her amusement for the span of two more breaths before he reached for the closest handle and tugged.

“Wait, not there,” she caught the door before it could fully open and pressed it shut.

“What do you mean not ‘there’?” he asked. “You’re not actually suggesting that I control this thing, are you?”

Horrifying images of the metal beast careening out of control into onlookers crowded his mind, and it was with all his willpower that he stayed in place rather than retreat. 

“Well, that is the backseat, and you only sit there if the front is already occupied or you’re paying for transport. Being as neither is true, since I’ll be the one driving us, you should sit in the front next to me.” She gestured toward the adjacent door, then stepped back to give him room.

Draco had to admit that whatever Muggle had concocted this insanity, they at least knew how to make seats. The caramel leather was ridiculously comfortable, and he had ample room to stretch his legs–no easy feat, given his considerable height. He looked around with increasing curiosity that now outweighed his earlier caution.

The panel in front of him had all sorts of knobs and buttons that he knew better than to meddle with. There was a pommel-like bar between the seats, and the large ring in the driver’s seat was obviously meant as some sort of handle. Grooves lined the leather just wide enough for fingers to rest in between.

The moment she slid in next to him, Draco feigned disinterest, looking out the front glass like he couldn’t care less about his surroundings. To his immense displeasure, he could see people walking down the sidewalk and stepping into their own vehicles. Why were there so many strangers? Didn’t they have better things to do than bear witness to his probable death? He could see it now: “Unidentified Man Perishes in Flames; Bushy-haired Suspect Still at Large.”

“--as soon as you buckle up.”

In his musing, he’d missed what she said. “Sorry, what?”

Hermione chuckled and shook her head. “I said, we’ll get going as soon as you buckle up.” She gestured at the strap across her own chest.

Draco perked up at the sight. Safety measures! Excellent. The strap was rudimentary compared to the Stabilising Charms in children’s brooms, but at least it proved the Muggles weren’t completely barmy. He located his own harness, but immediately hit a snag.

“How do I…” He tugged harder, hitting the same stopping point that prevented the strap from reaching across his chest. Was this made for children? Why was it so short?

“Oh, here, allow me.”

He put his hands up in surrender and let her take charge. As she leaned over, having undone her own belt, a sneaky hand slid across his chest and tweaked a nipple in passing.

“Granger.”

She merely winked at his warning. The little brat. If they survived this, Draco was going to pay her back 10x over.

“The trick is to pull gently. Slow and steady. You don’t have a problem with that, right?” Another suggestive grin, and then the audible click of his strap settling into place.  She’d quoted almost word for word the exact same thing he’d said to her in their first flying lesson.

She stayed close, nose to nose, toffee-coloured eyes searching him for…what?

“This means more to me than you know, Draco,” she said quietly.

He could see nothing but her. Tawny eyes fixed on him, the freckles he’d kissed countless times marching across her upturned nose and cheeks, dainty ears wearing the gold and ruby earrings he’d gifted her on her birthday, and her hair, her glorious hair. There was no room for anything else, riotous spirals of golden brown spilling across her shoulders and reaching for him like a living thing. The soft ends tickled the sensitive skin along his neck, but rather than pull away, he only wanted to bring her closer, to sink his hands against the dense mass at the base of her neck, to pull her into him and snog her breathless. Maybe if he did that, then they wouldn’t drive anywhere and he could convince her to return to her flat and into bed.

He’d endeavoured to do just that, palm already cupping her cheek and preparing to press further, when she moved past his questing lips to whisper into his ear with all the sneaky planning of a witch in full control. “Be good, and you’ll thank me later.”

Her hand trailed down to squeeze, to which he let out a groan of defeat. 

“The things I do for love.”

Her smile was blinding as she pulled away, the light of it filling the space more effectively than a Lumos or any amount of daylight ever could. He’d follow her anywhere as long as she always looked at him like that, metal carriages and all.

WC 1138

Cross-posted on Tumblr and AO3 (eventually under MarinaJune)

Twitter prompt from DramionePrompts: “Is it safe?”

I’ve been on the hunt for a car lately, now that we’ve had enough clashing schedules to warrant a second vehicle for the household. We’re caught between something a bit more flexible in a hybrid, or going full futuristic and opting for an EV. The main purpose of the second car would be local transport. It’s surprisingly difficult to find one that suits all of our needs and preferences! Why can’t we just figure out Floo travel, or Apparition???

#harry potter fanfiction #dramione #dramione prompt #dhr fanfiction #harry potter flashfic #draco malfoy x hermione granger #hermione granger #draco malfoy

[queenofbaws]

There's been a drought of non-poly Chrashley-focused content for quite a while now (apart from the occasional story on Ao3), and I'm starved for ANYTHING featuring the nerds and their schmaltzy escapades. I've considered remedying this situation by making my own food (read: trying to write my own fanfiction), but I fear I wouldn't do the characters justice. You've proven to be a talented author from what I've read of your works, so would you be willing to write a soft, sweet snippet in my stead?

catch me catching up on some not-quite-six sentence sat(or)sunday!

"So...is it that you think glaring it down is somehow going to magically make it safer, or...?" He couldn't mark it down as a full victory, not with the way her mouth was twisted up like that, but there was juuust enough laughter in her eyes for Chris to pat himself on the back. Not that he ever needed much of an excuse to do that.

After another moment of heavy, heavy consideration, Ashley sighed, then groaned, then forced herself to take a single lurching step over the threshold and into the cable car. She mumbled something as she shrugged her bag off and plunked it down on the same bench where he'd ditched his, and while he couldn't make most of it out, he for sure caught "death trap" and "tin can" thrown around in there.

"That'd be a 'yes' on the glaring question, then?" he teased, pretending not to follow her with his eyes as she sat beside him. She folded her arms and sighed again, and he nudged her shoulder with his own. "Think about it this way," he tried instead, "maybe it's Peter Pan rules - if you believe we're going to drop about a million feet and plunge to our icy deaths, then we will, and if you don't, we won't!"

"Chris! Oh my God." Ashley dropped her head into her hands, laughing tensely. Very, very tensely. "Do you seriously think that's helping?"

"Nah. I just didn't want to go full bad movie cliche and say, y'know...c'mon, Ash, what's the worst that could happen?"

The cable car's door clicked shut, the mechanism began to hum, and Ashley's laughter took on a desperate note. "Oooh but you said it anywayyy!"

She scooted another few inches away from the window, and just like that they were flush against each other, her arm pressing into his...from between, like, twelve layers of jacket, anyway. They hadn't even chugged a single inch up the mountain yet and whoop, yeah, uh huh, now Chris was all aboard the Anxiety Express too, his ticket paid for, processed, and punched in not by heights or the decidedly out-of-date maintenance sticker on the back window but Ashley herself. As was so often the case.

What was his move here? Did he have a move here? And, maybe more importantly, since when did he think about his life in terms of moves?

Okay, that last one was actually easy enough to answer: Since he'd hung up with Josh all of three minutes ago. It had been a thirty second call, if that, just enough to let him know they were heading up and he should expect them at the summit's station in the next ten minutes or so...but in true Josh fashion, he'd managed to pack that thirty seconds with as much psychic damage as humanly possible.

"Hope you two have a nice ride up," he'd said cheerfully enough, which had tripped at least five different warning alarms in Chris's brain. "See the sights, revel in the atmosphere, engage in a much-needed heart-to-heart...you know, just...really enjoy each other's company."

Good ol' Josh. Always knowing the exact thing to say to leave a guy completely unarmed.

Armed! Was that the answer? He could, in theory, sort of stretch his arm around her shoulders. People did that, didn't they? If someone they were with was freaked out? It...it didn't have to be seen as a romantic gesture, not if all he was doing was comforting her, but...but would she see it like that?

The cable car crept a foot off the ground, two, three, four, five...and right as they crested the roof of the station, it...well, it stopped. Completely.

"What's going on?" All it took was the cable car rocking once as it came to a halt and Ashley was on him, her face buried in the fur lining of his parka and her arms wrapped so tightly around his middle he could feel her fingers knotting at his side, Princess and the Pea style. "I can't look! How high up are we? I - wait, no, I don't want to know! Don't tell me!"

"I...we're like seven feet up, Ash. Like, maybe eight. Nine?"

"Make up your miiiiiiiind!" she groaned into his coat, her shoulders shaking as he did, in fact, scrounge up courage enough to wrap his arm around them. "I knew this was a bad idea...God, I hate these stupid things!"

"They've never stalled like this before. It's probably just, uh, a glitch or something. The system needs to warm up a little bit." He tried to sound confident as he said it, even as he glanced out the window and started running the numbers in his head. Could they jump out if they needed to? Maybe. It'd probably hurt, though, and he was prone to getting hurt on leisurely walks around the block, to say nothing of sick, snowy stunts. Plus, it'd taken a hell of a lot of convincing to get Ashley into the cable car in the first place; convincing her out of it...

"Yeah," she agreed, poking her head out from his coat only long enough to shoot a worried glance out the window on her side, "they've never stalled like this before, that's the problem, Chris! Maybe this is it! This is the time they break down for good! We're going to be stuck up here and - "

Before she could get another word out, the lights in the car flickered. And dimmed.

They turned to each other, eyes wide as panic began to really set in, and...and then...wait.

Now wait one fucking second.

The car suddenly filled with music. Music of the low and slow variety, that was, music the likes of which you only ever heard during the swelling denouement of a cheesy Hallmark romance movie, and Jesus Christ, he was going to kill Josh when they got to the summit. If they got to the summit.

Chris's head fell back against the glass panel behind him with a dull thunk. He squeezed his eyes shut as tight as they went. "Well," he said, feeling his adrenaline begin to flag, "looks like someone installed speakers in this bad boy since our last visit."

"Oh my God. Oh my...God." Beside him, Ashley slumped. Up until that moment, she'd been a spring wound tight against his side; now she felt more like a ragdoll folded up under his arm, her heartbeat still frantic enough that he could feel it through their layers upon layers of winterwear.

A moment later the cable car chugged back to life, rising up, up, up into the sky and towards the lodge, its lights low and its jams smooth. Chris waited for the moment Ashley straightened again, prepared himself for their inevitable separation...and even as the lights of the summit slowly came into view, it did not come.

"You just had to say it, didn't you?" Ashley asked after awhile, her arms still tight around him, her head still nestled in his parka's lining. "Just had to go and jinx us, huh?"

It took him a second, but when it clicked, it was all he could do not to laugh outright. Instead, he pressed his luck a liiittle more, tightening the arm around her shoulders to pull her closer before setting his chin atop her head. "Ash, uh, if this right here is the worst that could happen, I gotta be honest, I would love to know what your idea of the best-case scenario would've been."

#theincoironworks-blog #six sentence weekend #queenie writes supermassive #until dawn #chrashley #!!! oh my gosh thank you so so much for your kind words T_T and then your SAINTLY PATIENCE!!! #i'm sorry it took me forever and a day to get to this - i hope you enjoy!!! :)

[storyofmychoices]

The Reign of a Short King

[Mal Volari x Daenarya Masterlist] [Mal’s Orphanage]

Pairings: Mal Volari x Daenarya (F!OC) ; Tyril Starfury x Maiele* (*Maiele belongs to @lilyoffandoms) Book: Blades of Light and Shadow Word Count: ~750 Rating: Teen (just to be safe)

Synopsis: Mal is very insistent that a half inch makes all the difference.

A/N: This silly drabble was inspired by a comment by @dr-colossal-pita about Mal using his hair to increase his height, and my wanting to reconcile Mal being short even though in book 1 he is mentioned as "tall". Also, I know realistically they wouldn't use the US measuring system but this story works better when using 1/2 inches.

Mal and Daenarya stood near the garden wall in their backyard, a heated argument unfolding.

"You know, I'm 5 foot 8 and a half inches," Mal insisted, peering down at her. 

Mischief danced in her eyes as she chuckled, shaking her head. "You're dreaming, Mr. Magnificent. You're only feeling tall next to me,” Daenarya teased, nudging him gently.

"By the gods, I swear I am 5 foot 8 and a half!" Mal stood a little straighter to emphasize his point.

Her head tilted to the side in amusement, brushing back his beautiful mane. "I'll humor you, but just so you know, your hair doesn't count if that's where you're getting that extra half." 

Mal took a step back, feigning indignation. His fingers raked through his hair as he brushed his hair back methodically. "I would never count my hair." He shook his head, offended she'd even say such a thing. "I am 5 foot 8 and a half inches!"

"Okay," she nodded in agreement, her smile spreading across her face. She pressed a kiss on her cheek. "If you say so."

Mal puffed his chest and held his head as high as possible "I'm glad you've come to see my side of things." He offered his arm to her.

"If you say so," she repeated, accepting his gesture as they headed back to where their friends were gathered. 

"And if we were counting my hair, then, I'd be at least 5 foot 9 inches", maybe 5 foot 9 and a half!" He boasted proudly.

Daenarya chuckled, "Here we go again."

"Here we go again?" Maiele moved to join them. "What trouble are you two starting now?" 

"Did you know that Mal is 5 foot 8 and a half inches, but if you count his hair, he might even be 5 foot 9 and a half!" Sarcasm dripped in every word. 

"Huh," Maiele pondered thoughtfully, casually resting his arm on Mal's head. Despite Mal's attempts to squirm away, the elf’s tall and strong stature held him there. After another moment of consideration, a smirk spread on his lips. "You wish!"

A rumble of laughter rose in his throat as his hands tousled Mal's hair, messing up his perfect coiffure. With a playful wink to Daenarya, Maiele sauntered off back to Tyril, whose lip curled up ever so slightly despite his efforts to hide his amusement at Mal's despair. 

Flustered, Mal sputtered something in response, but his words were lost as Daenarya gently touched his face and gave him a light kiss.

"You're still my short king," she whispered. Her thumb caressed over his jaw, the coarse hair of his beard tickling her. 

Mal couldn't help but relax and smile at her touch. "You know, initially, you thought I was tall."

Daenarya couldn't help but remember that night so long ago. "What can I say? It was dark, and I had a few drinks before this handsome rogue barreled into me—"

"I barreled into you?" He interrupted.

"That's how I remember it," she continued, batting her eyelashes. "There I was minding my own business, when you, this smug adventure. bumped into me, this innocent country girl."

A smirk pulled on his lips, his brow arching. "You're many things, Kit, but innocent isn't one of them!" He shook his head in amusement. "How does that change my height?"

"As I was trying to explain," she smirked. She held her hand in front of her as if drawing his attention to an imaginary scene unfolding. "This beautiful adventurer with great hair bumps into me. It's a dark street; I was a little tipsy—"

"You're a little tipsy now? I thought you were innocent?" He chuckled in amusement, enjoying her embellished tale. "Besides, I've seen you drink; you weren't even a little tipsy."

Her face flushed. "Ugh, fine! I may or may not have been a little distracted by your chest hair... I mean who wears a V-neck while adventuring? Besides, you've seen what I had to work with in Riverbend. You were a welcomed step up. I was clearly preoccupied with other thoughts."

"And you want me to believe you were the innocent one?" His brow arched. "And, I repeat, how does that change my height?"

"Well, your head was up from there, so— tall...er?" Her smile widened, knowing her thoughts went far beyond his alluring chest. "Let's agree to agree. You agree that I was innocent the night we met, and I'll agree that you're 5 foot 8 inches...and a half!"

"I think I can support that agreement." He drew her into his arms, enveloping her completely. "Shall we seal it with a kiss?"

"Mmhmm," she hummed, "now you're talking." 

Mal closed the gap, guiding her into a deepening kiss. 

Daenarya smiled into his embrace, her fingers crossed behind his back. This certainly wouldn't be the last time she teased him about that half-inch.

A/N#2: Originally, I had Mal at 5'10" but somehow I kept lowering it and now we're at 5'8". I mean if Ironman can be 5'8", my short king can to!

Again, Maiele belongs to @lilyoffandoms and he is Daenayra's best friend (for any new readers)

Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed this playful adventure.

#mal volari #mal volari x mc #mal volari x oc #malarya #daenarya #mal x daenarya #blades of light and shadow #bolas #choices #playchoices #choices game #choices book club #fan fiction #lovealexhunt #july2023 #maiele nightbloom #tyril x maiele

[densi-mber]

Addled

“Ok baby, just three more steps and we’re there,” Kensi encouraged, supporting Deeks under the arm that wasn’t encased in a sling. He lurched to the side, throwing them both off balance, and Kensi had to fight to keep them from tumbling backwards.

“Sorry,” Deeks mumbled, bracing a hand on the wall. It took him a couple tries to find it.

“It’s ok. But maybe it would have been a good idea stay downstairs.” Tightening her grip on his arm, Kensi braced herself in case he wobbled again. She forgot sometimes how big Deeks was, not just height wise. Now that she was supporting most of his weight, he felt like a giant in comparison. She was just lucky that he was semi-mobile.

Eventually they made it to their room, and Kensi helped Deeks into bed. He rolled onto his back with a groan, wincing as he tried to wriggle farther up the bed. He gave up after a moment, cradling his injured arm.

A few hours ago, their day had gone from ordinary to terrifying when Deeks found himself hanging off the side of a cliff while engaged in a fight with an armed mercenary. Kensi’s heart had stilled when they both rolled off the cliff, and out of view. Somehow, Deeks had managed to fend off the mercenary until the rest of the team arrived, at which point he’d passed out in a pool of his own blood.

The left side of his face had developed into a mottled bruise, speckled with numerous cuts and abrasions. A larger gash along his hairline had required stitches and now had swelled considerably. The list of injuries was topped off with a badly dislocated shoulder, and a collection of bruises over a good portion of his body.

The doctor who treated Deeks kept insisting he got off easy. Kensi found it hard to agree when Deeks was clearly so miserable.

He shifted restlessly now on the bed, his legs crossing and uncrossing as he tried to find a comfortable position.

“Do you want another pill? The doctor said you could have them every four hours for the first couple days,” Kensi offered, feeling helpless. She’d never been good at caring for people when they were hurting. Not Jack and certainly not Deeks.

“Oh god no,” Deeks moaned softly, shaking his head, and then wincing again. “The rooms already shaking enough already and I think I’ll throw up if I try to swallow anything.”

“I’m so sorry, sweetie.” Leaning down, she swept Deeks’ tousled and matted curls back from his face. His skin was so unusually pale, another indicator that he felt awful. “What can I do?”

“I don’t know. Maybe just lay down with me?” He rubbed a clumsy hand over the unbruised side of his face, clamping his eyes closed, and swallowing convulsively. “Or kill me,” he croaked.

Kensi slid into bed alongside Deeks’ uninjured side, tucking his head under her chin. He sighed, relaxing into her.

“Hey Kensi, can you tell me something?” he murmured after a minute.

“Sure.”

“Are there elves dancing on the ceiling?”

“No, baby. No elves,” Kensi assured him, hiding her mild concern at his apparent hallucinations.

“Huh. What about cows?”

“Nope.”

“Wow. This sucks,” he sighed sleepily.

“Yeah. But I won’t leave you, not for a second.”

“I love you,” Deeks slurred, already half asleep.

***

A/N: Once when my mom was recovering from surgery at home (torn tendon in her shoulder from falling), she was seeing all kinds of pictures in the trees across the street. One of the things being a massive baby bottle.

#densimber 7.0 #densimber 2023 #densimber day 30 #ncis la fanfiction #densi #marty deeks #kensi blye #Deeks whump #hurt/comfort #by ejzah

[wackysach]

Please do share your hcs even if the designs aren't finished

Pretty sure I not the only one who'd love to hear it 👀

oh god, this ask was from like 2 months ago but i got too shy to respond to it so it’s been sitting here, getting stale. probably moldy at this point. i’m so sorry– but here i am, responding to it now so… yes. (also this user was referring to the doodles i did of the DHMIS characters from the TV series a while ago). i’m not gonna do all of the characters, but i’ll do a couple:

briefcase:

- i call him brandon (simply because brandon matches with brendon heehee)

- works a lot of odd side jobs but his main job is an accountant 

- an absolute go-getter ! this guy genuinely loves to work. give him a task and he’ll make sure it gets done efficiently 

- pokes fun at his older brother often but in reality they’re extremely close 

- in spite of all the jokes and teasing, briefcase looks up to brendon, like, a lot actually. i imagine they grew up in poverty together so they really only had each other to rely on, which is why they’re so close. brendon took good care of him when he was young, so briefcase working hard to make sure he grew up to have a stable job was his way of giving back to his older brother. he probably helps brendon out financially while he works to get his novel published 

(unemployed) brendon:

- the whole “unemployed brendon” name joke-thing stemmed from people getting the two brothers’ names mixed up. briefcase prolly started saying something like “but i’m the employed one !” and so the whole “unemployed brendon” thing came to be. funnily enough, people actually started remembering the two’s names correctly after it 

- gets easily mistaken for the younger brother because of his height and higher pitched voice but he’s considerably older by about 6/7-ish years 

- loves to write. it’s his passion. a proper education was hard to come by when he was young, so he taught himself to read and write by studying the papers he sold and would buy himself books whenever he had a little extra money. now that he’s older he’s been able to publish a couple articles here in there in a few newspapers but his real goal is to get “The Ultimate Forgiveness” — a thematic autobiographical novel centered around learning to forgive oneself for past mistakes — published 

- has a quieter, more reserved nature in contrast to his brother, however he can get a little loud and sassy if provoked

- bearer of an absolutely fantastic unibrow. (shrignold take notes)

coffin:

- name is finn, short for finnicus 

- drinks his coffee black for sure

- likes to keep his areas dim and dark. actually, he likes a lot of dark, macabre things 

- is he a vampire ? we’ll never know 

- he do work as a mortician though (woah bros i just rhymed)

- hobbies include taxidermy, skull collecting, poetry, reading, gardening, and wood carving

- was originally part of an amish-like family, but he left that kind of community behind. his family keeps in contact so he pretends to still follow the lifestyle just to keep the peace with them. (hence the “oh is that a TV ? yeah i’ve been thinking about getting one of those. haha, don’t tell anyone though.” and also the questionable fashion choices *cough cough* those shoes...)

- idk mane, he’s just lowkey a chillax guy. not really much else

warren:

… warren.

electracey:

- goes by "ellie" or "tracey"

- she’s an electrician but also the host for a TV game show called “Watt a Shock !” (ha did you see what i did there ? aren’t i clever)

- is my wife huh. what. who said that ?

- they can get brazy with an electric guitar, man

- as cool as her hair looks, be careful touching it. it’s got that static electricity effect

- related to colin and layla (laptop), she’s like their super cool older cousin. 

- just super sweet and energetic overall

- knows a lot of random, entertaining trivia facts

- 100% dips their fries in milkshakes/ice cream

#might do the others later if i feel like it but here it is ! #heehee do you guys like my masterpieces #they took me like 2 minutes each #dhmis #dhmis headcanons #dhmis briefcase #dhmis brendon #dhmis coffin #dhmis warren #dhmis electracey #☎️💬 QnA

[adastra121]

Doran the Doomed Harbinger

Meet the visiting mage from my Unnamed!MC Luneth's backstory.

Pronouns: He/They Birthday: February 29 Height: 173 cm (5’8) Personality: Troublesome contrarian Likes: Dancing, poetry, sweets, really bad erotica (the cringier the better), puzzles, animals that tend to disgust or frighten people Dislikes: Coconut, dogs (he has severe cynophobia from their traumatic experience with a hellhound), rules, boredom, tight clothing Fatal flaw: Lacks a sense of self which makes them turn to external influences for direction Other: Enjoys his tea with a startling amount of sugar. So yeah, they drink slightly tea-flavoured sugar every morning. With the occasional splash of milk.  Quote: “I know you more than I know the sky. I know deep in my bones that my thread was spun for your tapestry.”

More about them below:

Doran was a magic prodigy, born gifted and powerful and unfortunately for them, that caught the Senobium’s attention.

When Doran was young, he was attacked by a hellhound. He used his magic intending to kill it, but being an untrained magical powerhouse, he ended up absorbing the creature’s heart instead.

Now they’re a walking bomb. A roaring firestorm lives inside of them and they are being burned alive every waking moment. They keep it under wraps with their magic. They’ve become so practised with restraining the hellfire inside of him that it’s become as natural as breathing to them. He does it subconsciously. Unconsciously.

For most of his life, he had trained under the Senobium to be their perfect mage. He did anything they asked of him, even if the tasks they gave him were dangerous or cruel. He took pride in them, even found humour in the cruelty where most others would only find horror. But he understood, even as a child, that the Senobium was in control — although he played the part of their puppet well, if he ever stepped out of line, they would destroy him.

With the hellfire burning inside them and the Senobium’s control, all they’ve ever known is restraint. Eventually, they had enough of the Senobium’s influence over their life and fled Eridia.

For a while, he travelled around the world, searching for a new purpose after leaving the Senobium. He worked as a magic mercenary, providing magical assistance to anyone that paid — sometimes to those who didn’t, if the mood struck.

He tries their hand at being a hero for a while due to being bored. They’ve never felt the automatic urge to be heroic out of the goodness of their heart, but after leaving the Senobium, he didn’t really have much else to do, and they couldn’t find a good reason not to.

His moral code is whatever they find more interesting at the moment.

“I don’t understand. Why would you risk your life for a bunch of strangers?” *shrug* “Why not?”

Also, villain types are genuinely so much more fun to piss off. Because you get the sense that they’ve already passed the point of no return, and once you pass that certain threshold, you lose much of your restraint. And that makes for interesting adversaries and interesting fights.

…You can kind of see how they wound up half-dead when Luneth found them.

Oh my god, I realized he’s just the personification of fucking around and finding out.

Luneth views them as a mess of contradictions. They are as sincere as they are mysterious. As considerate as they are selfish. As kind as they are cruel. Nihilistic as optimistic. With an open heart and innumerable secrets behind their smile. The one thing about them that makes sense? They are lost. And they are wandering the world, searching for their destiny, even as they claim they don’t believe in it.

Doran is a curious spirit. He loves to question everything. Especially if it results in annoying someone.

They enjoy and collect puzzle toys. They especially like the puzzle boxes which you need to solve in order to open. They gifted one of their favourites to Luneth during their time together.

You know the manic pixie dream girl trope? He’s a manic demon nightmare guy — I don’t know how else to describe a character who self-ascribes the role of the inciting incident for someone else’s journey of growth and decides to incite the incident by any means necessary.

I feel like another quote of theirs could be: “Aren’t you tired of being nice? Don’t you just want to go apeshit?” I’m pretty sure they’ve said something along those lines to Luneth at one point.

They have a soft spot for “creepy” or “scary” animals like bats, rats, snakes, spiders, bugs, and deep-sea marine animals. Barreleye fish, my beloved.

They wandered without purpose for most of their life. They found their purpose in Luneth. He sees themself in her, but more than that, he sees her potential to be greater than him, than her temple, fate, destiny, all of it. They finally understand faith for having known her. 

Zodiac sign is Pisces.

MBTI type is ENTP.

Like Luneth, this character was inspired by a song I was listening to. Doran’s is “Arsonist’s Lullaby” by Hozier.

And here’s their full character design! I’m not sure if it shows in the picture, but he has fire designs running up their arms and neck in a deeper skin tone.

#touchstarved #red spring studio #touchstarved game #touchstarved oc #doran the harbinger #doran the doomed harbinger #luneth the unnamed #my oc #original character #my original character #myoc #might change their quote later I was listening to hadestown songs while writing his profile #my art

[sunny-speaks]

Soulmates

Characters: Harper @campwillowpeak x reader!

Soulmate au where distinct traits appear on the other persons body, (ex. freckles, dyed hair, tattoos) but also body writing is transferred as well!

Hope you enjoy! On that 'pumping out Harper fics' grindset atm.

You never quite understood the rules of soulmates and how they worked, but that’s okay. You had already turned the age that it set in before you knew it and you were so excited to talk to your soulmate. Your closest friend Harper was turning the same age as you just in a couple of weeks!

The two of you were both seated on the bed in your room as he was the first person to see you the morning of. He had slept over that night because the two of you were too excited to see any changes.

You both waited to see if anything had already changed about you, like your hair color or any marks on your skin or even some scribbles and doodles.

But you were met with nothing.

…That was disappointing.

Harper sat on your bed, gesturing for you to sit next to him, “Maybe your soulmate’s younger than you?” God, was he hopeful it was him.

He had like the biggest crush on you, you didn’t understand… He hoped so badly that when it was his birthday that his hair burns reflected back at him on you so he could show off to others and Gavin, that he was yours and you were his.

You had always been so nice and caring to him. Even if he was considerably taller than you and you had him on a leash, you never acted condescending or mean to him. You didn’t talk to him out of fear or anything, you acted like… he was special or something.

He didn’t… Ugh, he didn’t know what to do with these feelings of his. He was your best friend, firstmost and foremost. He had seen those videos girls post about making guy friends for them to guy ‘I have something to tell you…’ and he didn’t want to disappoint you like that!!

Even if he did want something more…

You sighed, “I don’t know… I just wish I could’ve gotten a sign or something that they’re not like a decade younger than me? Or if they’re just plain…” You grabbed a pen and quickly scribbled a ‘hey :D’ onto your arm. “If I’m lucky enough, maybe they’re just in a different timezone, you know?” You tried to give him a smile but it appeared pretty weak unfortunately…

Were you a little desperate? Sure.

But maybe there was a higher force trying to help you out. Which you would greatly appreciate.

Your parents just set this… rule of no dating until you meet your soulmate because they believe that you should only ever be intimate with your soulmate, your destined one.

You weren’t sure about your stance on that to be honest…

“Yeah… maybe.” Harper tried to sound enthusiastic for you, but it was harder than he expected. He clearly adored you and didn’t understand how you didn’t notice….

But no matter! He had fended others off for you for years, he could do it for longer.

You paused before trying to crack a half-joke. “But wouldn’t it be so funny, if like… I knew my soulmate already?” You were trying to hint at… something to Harper, but he didn’t pick up on it out of sheer density. 

Harper almost choked on his saliva as he let out an awkward laugh, starting to test the waters. “I-I mean, well, uh, how would you feel about that? Like someone you’ve known as a friend was, uh… something more than that?”

You laid on your back, “I dunno man, I’ve always liked a friends to lovers trope, you know? All that romantic tension unresolved until boom! Inciting incident! But mutual pining always hits hard too…”

He laid on his back too, as both your feet dangled off the end of the bend. The two of you were both lying vertically on the bed, your head barely brushing the pillows while Harper wholeass body took up the whole length of the bed.

“Dude, why’re you so big? It, like, doesn’t make any sense…” You watched him slightly curl in on himself trying to fit on your small bed that barely accustomed his height.

Your question made him splutter, face turning bright red. “Ah- Um- Uhhh―”

You paused and started shaking uncontrollably as you lightly punched his arm, “Not like that, Harper! My god… You are just as bad as Friend sometimes, geez. I pity Sweetheart…”

Friend was Harper’s close friend and Sweetheart was Friend’s soulmate. You knew them well enough to see how happy they made each other. But also enough to know about Friend’s… unique sense of humor.

Harper coughed into his fist, “That’s supposed to be an insult, is it now, cara mio?” He let out a soft chuckle that resounded through his chest.

The two of you were face to face even if Harper had to awkwardly lay in position to meet your height. You know… if you leaned in, your lips would just barely brus—

Nope.

Nuh uh.

This is not the time to begin having very romantic thoughts about your childhood crush— Agh! Childhood friend. Childhood friend, yeah…

As your eyes flickered between his lips and down to his chest nervously, Harper couldn’t help but feel a little hot under all his layers from how intensely you were staring at him.

He turned his head away from your gaze, blushing beginning to reach the base of his neck. Curious as to why the skin color changed, you brought featherlight touches to his skin.

Needless to say, his body lit on fire. Sure, just a couple seconds ago, you were just joking like friends, but now the two of you were acutely aware of the little space between you and Harper could already feel himself withering under your touch each second.

A low whine was muttered from his throat when you brushed over a certain scar, “Mgh… Not there…”

You immediately recoiled, the mere thought of him taking pleasure, indulging in your touches, maniacal, “Oh shit, my bad.” Your hand immediately flew off his neck…

Or at least it would’ve. If you know, his hand hadn’t attached itself to yours as he gently pressed it back, “No, I mean… ugh…” He got drunk on your touch way more early than he thought he would… did he have no self-preservation?

By the way he brought his head into the corner of your nape and used his other hand as a lock to your waist, he had the answer to his question.

And following that afternoon of the two of you cuddling, unfortunately or fortunately the tension between the two of you continued to grow.

You spent your breaks at work just sitting on a bench and listening to him ramble on and on and staring into those beautiful sky blue eyes of his that complimented his ink black hair with those occasional white patches from fire damage.

Sure, he was a pyromaniac, but he was your pyro best friend.

Sometimes, you felt the lines of ‘friend’ and ‘partner’ blur. Whether that ‘partner’ meant ‘partner in crime’ or ‘romantic partner,’ the both of you didn’t want to ask the question or risk breaking the peace.

You had taken the first initiative by kissing him on his birthday. The day he’d finally meet his soulmate.

--

The both of you had barely gotten any sleep the night prior, both anxiety and excitement keeping you restless.  While it hadn’t been very long since your birthday, maybe the two of you had grown to see each other in a… different light?

You weren’t sure.

All you knew now was that you liked Harper. More than a friend. Maybe you always had. You still haven't gotten any responses from a soulmate so it had to be someone younger than you.

You couldn’t bear the thought of your soulmate just ghosting you or your soulmate already dead.

That wasn’t pleasant to imagine...

The two of you laid on his huge bed in his bedroom. It was so big to barely just fit his height, which was something you joked a lot about.

With bags under your eyes, you slowly turned to Harper. “So… this is it.”

“...Yeah.” Harper was internally buzzing with excitement but all sorts of anxious thoughts returned to his head. What if it wasn’t you? He loved you more than anything, but what if he was wrong? What if it was some stranger he’d never met?!

“You’re worried?” You accurately picked up his emotions, billowing off of him in waves. He’d always worn his heart on his sleeve after all. “Bout what?”

“I don’t know. I guess I don’t really want to love a stranger.” He combed his hair through his hands, as he turned to you, worried, wide eyes. “Like, I don’t want to build a relationship with someone I don’t know just because the universe says we’re destined to be.”

“Harper…” You’d had the existential crisis before too. Why does Fate get to govern your love lives? It was so stupid sometimes. But somehow, it always worked out.

You let out a sigh of exasperation. “Well, it’d be better to get this off my chest even if your soulmate’s someone else…”

“Huh?” Harper perked up at the sheer idea of a confession.

You fidgeted around on his bed, trying to think of a way you could encapsulate how much you liked him and how that changed from friendship into a more romantic sense… but you weren’t entirely sure how.

“I… I like you, Harper. I’m not quite sure when the boundaries between ‘friends’ and ‘something more’ kinda disappeared. I don’t even know when I started liking you in a romantic light. But you’re the kindest, most beautiful, chaotic pyromaniac shit that I think I’ll ever love.”

His heart played hopscotch in its chest, running miles an hour. His bottom lip started trembling as he tried to rein in a smile.

“I know that, like, maybe I’m not your soulmate. But I think I can love you regardless of the fact we’re destined for others. I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you, aha…” You awkwardly trailed off, “Y’know they say you never forget your first love? I like to think that’s been you. And maybe by some stroke of luck, we are soulmates! And wouldn’t that just be… I don’t know, perfect?” You gave him an awkward smile, “But can I do something before we check who your soulmate is?”

“Go ahead…” Harper’s backbone was like wet tissue after hearing your confession. You mean, you mean, his years of liking you back weren’t unreciprocated??? And- And you felt the same?

God, he was elated.

You leaned in, your hands around his waist as you slowly pulled yourself closer to him, letting him push you away at any moment’s notice. Harper’s body went stiff when he realized what you were doing right before his face burst out into flames.

“So… this is why you like fire so much? Cause it’s such a pretty shade.” You teased him a little with a cringey joke as he failed to reply.

You pressed your lips to his and he could feel your lips grow into a smile against his. He brought his hand to the base of your neck and pressed you closer to him. His tongue slightly prodded at your bottom lip as he tilted his head to the side for a better angle.

And that’s when you remembered… He had a gigantic tongue ! That was not going down your throat first thing in the morning!

But the both of you were interrupted by someone joining the room… It was Cucumber, Harper’s snitten, looking mildly appalled at what the two of you were doing at the asscrack of dawn.

You immediately separated, to Harper’s disappointment and your relief. Regardless of gag reflex, you still hadn’t eaten anything for breakfast. So tongue-shoving would have to wait.

“...You should probably check for your soulmate.” You paused. Well. This was it. God, if it weren’t for that kiss you just shared, you’d be a lot more anxious.

“OH yeah. Probably.” He dragged his feet to a desk away from his bed, almost pouting as he left you alone. He brought the pen to his wrist and scribbled something on it. “Anything appear on yours?”

You looked down at your wrist in relief and then in mild horror.

“...Did you just write ‘Olive Garden /neg’ as our first soulmate bond.” It wasn’t a question, more of a passive aggressive statement.

But what Harper was enamored with was that the both of you were soulmates.

He started shaking uncontrollably and picked you up off the bed and gave you a tight hug. “Cara mio, cara mio! We’re soulmates! I haven’t called you that in so long, I’ve wanted to for so long! But you would’ve felt awkward, agh- Cara mio, I’ve loved you for so long, didn’t know you liked me too!”

You raised both eyebrows in surprise, “Someone’s been dreaming of this for too long, hm?”

He gently played with strands of your hair, having calmed down a little. “...Maybe. But your hair matches mine now, cara mio. …Oh. Wait, can I call you that?”

You nodded, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips and leaving him dumbfounded, “We should go eat, let’s go break the news to your Nonna, hm?”

You headed downstairs as Harper was left to furiously blush and chase after you, “Give me a moment to react, will you, cara mio!”

#cwp harper x reader #cwp harper #harper cwp #✨ full fic #yandere #yandere x reader #camp willowpeak

[todaysdocument]

Faytie Alone Kitchens Karlovic took this oath of allegiance to regain her rights as a U.S. citizen 11/20/1942.

From 1907 to 1922, American women lost their American citizenship after marrying non-Americans.

Series: Repatriation Oaths of Allegiance, 1941 - 1950

Record Group 21: Records of District Courts of the United States, 1685 - 2009

Transcription:

Form N-415

(Old 2234)

U.S. DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE

IMMIGRATION AND NATURALIZATION SERVICE

(EDITION OF 9-15-41)

ORIGINAL

(To be retained as court

record)

APPLICATION TO TAKE OATH OF ALLEGIANCE TO THE UNITED STATES UNDER THE

ACT OF JUNE 25, 1936, AS AMENDED, AND FORM OF SUCH OATH

To the Honorable, the U.S. District Court of Eastern District of Arkansas Little Rock, Ark.

This application, hereby made and filed, respectfully shows:

(1) My full, true, and correct name is FAYTIE ALONE KITCHENS KARLOVIC

(2) My present place of residence is Route #`1 Rison Cleveland Arkansas

(3) My occupation is Housewife

(4) I am 47 years old. (5) I was born on June 9, 1895 in Hamburg,

Arkansas United States

(6) My personal description is as follows: Sex Female; color White, complexion Dark,

color of eyes Grey, color of hair Dark Brown, height 5 feet 8 inches, weight 135 pounds;

visible distinctive marks None

(7) I am -- married; the name of my husband is Andrew Matt Karlovic; we were married

on April 21, 1912 at Hamburg, Arkansas; he was born

at Klana Istrea Austria on November 6, 1888; and now resides

at Route #1 Rison, Arkansas U.S.A.

(8) I lost, or believe that I lost, United States citizenship solely by reason of my marriage on April 21, 1912

to Andrew Matt Karlovic then an alien, a citizen or subject of Austria,

and my marital status with such person was not terminated on     by    

(9) I have resided continuously in the United States since the date of my marriage shown in paragraph 8 hereof,

to wit, since April 21, 1912

(10) I hereby apply to take the oath of renunciation and allegiance as prescribed in Section 335 (b) of the Nationality

Act of 1940 (54 Stat. 1157) to become repatriated and obtain the rights of a citizen of the United States.

[signature]

  Subscribed and sworn to before me by the above-named applicant, in the office of the clerk of said court at

Little Rock, Ark. this 20th day of November, Anno Domini 1942

Grady Miller

Clerk

By [signature] Lillian M. Vaughan [seal]

Deputy Clerk.

STATE OF ARKANSAS

COUNTY OF PULASKI }ss:  In the U.S. District Court

                                                 of Eastern District of Arkansas

    Upon consideration of the foregoing, it is hereby ORDERED and DECREED that the above application be granted; that

the applicant named therein be repatriated as a citizen of the United States, upon taking the oath of renunciation and

allegiance to the United States; and that the clerk of this court enter these proceedings of record.

                 By the Court:

[signature]

Judge.

OATH OF RENUNCIATION AND ALLEGIANCE

     I hereby declare, on oath, that I absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign

prince, potentate, state or sovereignty of whom or which I have heretofore been a subject or citizen; that I will support

and defend the Constitution and laws of the United States of America against all enemies, foreign and domestic; thatI

will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I take this obligation freely without any mental reservation or

purpose of evasion: SO HELP ME GOD. In acknowledgment, whereof I have hereunto affixed my signature.

         [signature]

The foregoing oath was administered to the petitioner in open court this 20th day of November, 1942

        Grady Miller

        Clerk

By Lillian M. Vaughan

Deputy Clerk

16-16869-1

[SEAL]

Note to Clerk of Court: No fee is to be

collected in connection with the filing of

this application. The applicant, upon

demand, should be furnished with the

triplicate copy, duly certified, for which a

fee not in excess of $1 may be collected.

#archivesgov #November 20 #1942 #1940s #citizenship #women's history

[ana-chronista]

9, 19, 24 and 26 for bojere ❤️

Thanks for your ask, anon! 😊

Baths or showers together? Do they like elaborate ones with bubbles and flower petals?

Showers are probably easier for fitting both of them in and simpler to organise on the day-to-day, though baths are more typically romantic and maybe get arranged for special occasions. Jere might get super into finding the most obnoxiously neon bath bombs known to man. But hear me out on this: hot springs. There’s much more room to chill out there compared to a standard bathtub. Apparently, Thailand has a number of hot springs. As we all know, Bojan missed a trip there and Jere likes it there, so... How do they silently/subtly express their love for each other? Jere’s not as much of a natural with languages as Bojan, but he’d try to learn some Slovenian and Serbian independently to impress Bojan with, which has the added bonus of more-or-less knowing he’s getting the correct meaning and not Bojan (or the JO guys!) teaching him what he thinks is “good morning, how are you?” but is actually “fuck you and the horse you rode in on”. He would treat this offhandedly as “oh yeah, I’m a language master now, Mr. Worldwide” without revealing the hours it took to master certain phrases, though Bojan would at least suspect the truth and be very touched by it. Bojan seems more overt in his romantic gestures so pinpointing something silent or subtle is harder. However, when he notices Jere likes something in particular on his visits to Slovenia, like a certain type of food or drink, the next time it’s magically in stock at his flat even if he never usually buys it. It would also take Jere a little longer to pinpoint the exact meaning behind all the red carnations Bojan keeps ordering internationally. What are their favorite places to kiss on their partner(s)? What are their favorite types of kisses? Jere seems to be a big fan of kisses on the cheek or neck as a big “oh my god, you’re amazing!” kind of gesture – we’ve all seen the post-ESC final and Nordic Tour on-stage videos. I think Bojan would be similar as they seem to mirror each other’s behaviour a fair bit, but I reckon he’d also kiss the top of Jere’s head while wrapping him up in a hug, mainly to highlight the (minimal) height difference and probably wind Jere up a bit! Do they have any pets or kids? Kids could be on the cards as Bojan has stated he wants to have children and Jere seems to be a fun, involved uncle, though with their careers that’s probably not a consideration for a good few years yet. There’s plenty of time. As for pets, I reckon they’d both be dog people. Maybe when they’ve settled a bit more to be in one place together for longer stretches of time so it’s fairer to the dog. Maybe also once there’s a kid or two so someone else can sub in every now and then to wear out the dog a bit!

#ana answers #bojere

[thewayshedreamed]

Not Even at All, Part 4

Nessian High School AU Inspired by 10 Things I Hate About You

A/N: Excited to share this update with y’all! It took me a while to get it where I wanted, but I decided it was time to share!

Although this isn’t an official Nessian Week submission, I hope everyone is enjoying the Nessian Week content! There are some incredible content creators in our little fandom, and see so much Nessian content come across my dash has been a treat.

Anyway— without further delay, enjoy this update to Not Even at All!

——————————————————————————

[ Nesta ]

The heat was suffocating. Nesta usually enjoyed playing soccer, even running the practice drills, but the unforgiving temperature made her shoulders sag in relief when her coach blew the whistle to end practice.

“Great hustle, ladies,” he yelled.

Yeah, Nesta thought. Just wonderful.

She dragged her feet over to the bench and dug through her duffel bag for her water bottle. Thanking the gods that it was still cool, she fought the urge to pour the entire thing over her head. She settled for a long sip instead.

A shadow stretched across the grass, but before Nesta could thank the Cauldron for the possibility of cloud cover, she realized the shadow was more humanoid in shape. With her luck, it was her teammate who hadn’t expected such physicality from Nesta during practice coming to even the score. Either her, or her coach was sidling up for another lecture about aggressive play.

“Hey there, Sweetheart.”

Nesta’s shoulders tightened. That voice was vaguely familiar in the way that nagged at her memory, yet it came up short. It was somehow jagged and honeyed at the same time with a slight accent. She couldn���t quite place it, but that didn’t stop her tireless brain from trying.

She angled her head to the side and found Cassian Enalius’ obnoxiously large form hovering nearby. She took him in. His rogue hair, only to be outdone by the haphazard grin stretched across his face. His high cheekbones that cradled cunning hazel eyes. The way the sun illuminated his face made him an entirely different experience from when he’d clambered into Mr. Day’s class.

“How’s it goin’?” His lips pulled farther to one side, informing Nesta that she’d been caught cataloguing his features for a moment too long.

She glared sidelong at him and shoved the water bottle back into her bag. “Sweating straight through my uniform. How’s it goin’ for you?”

Perhaps mimicking the drawl and informality of his words wasn’t entirely called for, but his unsolicited attention fell into the same category. He appeared unbothered, anyway.

“Mm,” he began, rolling his lips between his teeth in mock consideration. “You sure know how to snag a guy’s attention.”

She straightened to her full height and turned toward him, her arms crossed over her chest. “Now you know my life’s work.”

Cassian blinked, but his only reaction was a huff of amusement. Otherwise, he remained neutral in the face of her snark. Interesting.

“Clearly, it’s going well since you felt inclined to come over.” She grabbed roughly at the strap of her duffel and hauled it over her shoulder. “All is well with the world.” With what she hoped was a cleared dismissal, she turned on her heel and walked away.

The sound of his footsteps followed, and she indulged in an eye roll since he couldn’t see, anyway.

“So, I’ll pick you up on Friday, then?”

Nesta’s steps faltered almost imperceptibly, but in her soul, she knew he noticed. Smug satisfaction was an almost tangible thing around them, and it wasn’t coming from her.

“Friday,” she deadpanned. It wasn’t quite an affirmative, nor was it a question.

“Yep,” he said, hastening his steps to walk alongside her. “The night everything changes.”

Nesta scoffed. “I can’t imagine how low you’ve set your bar if you think anything noteworthy will happen on Friday. And to be honest, I’d be shocked if you even knew my name.”

“I think I’ll surprise you plenty, Nesta Archeron.”

Her throat constricted, but luckily, her body gave nothing away. “I doubt it,” she countered, internally celebrating the way the short sentence planted Cassian’s feet to the ground.

She didn’t look back.

—

[ Rhys ]

If Cassian knew that they were watching nearby, he gave no indication. Rhysand had to respect the way he squared his shoulders and walked away from the rough encounter with the eldest Archeron, no hint of shame in sight. In fact, Rhysand swore he saw the barest remnants of a smile still tugging at the edges of his mouth.

Maybe some of the rumors about Cassian were truer than they’d realized. He wasn’t cut from the same cloth, that was for certain.

“We’re fucked,” he lamented, turning to gauge Azriel’s expression.

As usual, Azriel’s stoicism made it difficult to read him. And that was saying something, because Rhys had always been decent at reading people.

Az’s mouth twitched at the corners as if trying to contain his amusement. “You gave up quickly considering the lengths you’ve gone to set this whole thing in motion.”

“Yeah, well,” Rhys grumbled. He didn’t have much else in terms of ideas or next steps. Dating Feyre was looking more bleak with each passing moment. It surprised him how quickly his hope died.

“Look, if anyone is going to try and date Nesta Archeron and survive, it’s that guy. Have some faith.”

Rhysand nodded, his gaze fixed on Cassian’s retreating form. Somehow, Azriel being the one to try and keep the hope alive made it shrivel that much faster.

—

[ Elain ]

Three girls— high school girls, at that— sharing one bathroom was always a source of conflict in the Archeron house. Elain was used to blending with the walls as much as possible and allowing Nesta and Feyre to go for the other’s throat. She never let it escalate too much, mostly because she wasn’t entirely sure her two sisters weren’t stubborn enough to power through even physical injuries to get their points across. Nesta, especially, was ruthless; sharp and unyielding. In so many ways, Elain knew those traits would bring much of the world to their knees before her sister.

In even more ways, Elain was headed for an early grave for all her efforts in conflict resolution.

Nesta tied her long hair away from her face and turned on the sink to wash her face. Her delicate fingers danced beneath the stream of water to test the temperature until she deemed it appropriate. They stood in comfortable silence while Elain applied lotion to her face. She considered asking Nesta about her day, maybe soccer practice. Things were tense in the house since Nesta and Feyre’s fight with their father.

Elain could see both sides. Ultimately, she felt the contingency unfair to Nesta. It added a level of responsibility to her shoulders that didn’t belong there, and it seemed as though it was a winless scenario. Their oldest sister could either compromise her desires and her intense focus on her studies in favor of dating to appease her sisters, or she could dig her heels in for the remainder of the school year and have them resent her.

She didn’t envy Nesta for her position.

As if she knew Elain was thinking of her, Feyre walked into the room. Elain made space for her at the second sink, just as Nesta rinsed the remaining suds from her face. The air thickened with tension when two identical pairs of eyes met in the mirror. Nesta was the first to break eye contact by rubbing roughly at her face with a towel.

Feyre fiddled with the clasp of her bracelet and placed it in a small dish. “Have you considered not taking yourself so seriously?” she asked, her tone too casual for such a loaded question. “You could have some potential if you tried being more pleasant; maybe let a couple of people in.”

Elain tensed, bracing herself for how lethal Nesta was known to be. To her surprise, Nesta merely looked down her nose at their youngest sister and finished drying her hands with her towel.

“Someone should take themselves seriously around here.”

If the room had dipped several degrees in temperature, Elain wouldn’t have been surprised. Getting involved required a level of energy she’d expended by a much earlier hour, but things were deteriorating quickly.

Feyre’s cheeks flushed with temper. “You could also try being nice for once in your life. No one would know what to think if you did.”

“Feyre—” It was as far as she got before Nesta’s retort sliced through Elain’s interference.

“I don’t care what people think,” she snapped, tossing her towel roughly onto the countertop.

Elain grabbed it, folding it neatly and hanging it on the small towel rack nearby. Mostly, she wanted to be in prime position to wedge herself between Nesta and Feyre should the need present itself.

“Yes you do.” Feyre punctuated her words with a subtle eye roll and shifted her attention to removing her earrings.

Nesta scoffed. “No, I really don’t.” A beat passed, loaded with an almost palpable energy, before Nesta drove her knife a bit deeper. “You don’t always have to do what people expect of you. You don’t have to be what they want you to be.”

“Nesta, Feyre— please. Let it go.” Elain’s usually soft voice seemed to echo in the small space. The authority in her tone was something she only used when she felt it necessary. Their conversation was going to hell in a hand basket, and fast, so it seemed like the right time.

Technically, Elain’s nightly routine was finished. She could have dipped out, but considering Nesta propped her hip against the counter and crossed her arms, it was best to stay put. Her sisters may have honored her demand, but no promises were made about how long it stood.

Nesta heaved a breath, followed by an almost preternatural tilt of her head. “Where did you get that necklace?”

“It was Mom’s.”

Elain’s breath caught. She’d thought she had remembered the jewelry, but it hadn’t been clear enough to know for certain. In hindsight, it was obvious Nesta had known before the question had left her mouth.

Before their mother had died, there had been a certain Archeron dynamic. Nesta was their mother’s pride, her protégée in many ways. Her expectations had been nearly unattainable, but not everyone was as driven and hard-headed as Nesta. She rose to the occasion every time. No doubt, the success cost her, and the way she approached most things in life showed the evidence of it.

Feyre had been favored by their father as the youngest and as a curious child who showed interest in everything their father did. She’d followed him around tirelessly in her earliest years, learning certain useful skills through his interests or by proximity.

Elain had fallen somewhere in between, gravitating back and forth between the two pairs depending on what suited her mood that day. She wasn’t wholly different from everyone, nor was she entirely the same. Her greatest blessing was the opportunity to be whoever she wanted to be.

Considering the way they had grown up, it made sense that Nesta would be so affected by Feyre’s possession of one of the few remaining items that had belonged to their mother. Elain’s chest tightened. She didn’t feel a profound connection to the woman’s possessions, but she imagined that Nesta’s thoughts were conflicted at best.

“So, you’re just going to start wearing it now?” she demanded, incredulous.

“It’s not like she’s going to wear it,” Feyre retorted, but she wouldn’t meet Nesta’s gaze. “Dad found it and offered it to me.”

Nesta blinked at Feyre, and Elain’s eyes danced between the two of them. Her eyes slid closed as she took a deep, steadying breath.

“It’s beautiful, Fey,” she murmured, eyeing Nesta in the mirror. “It looks great on—”

“Don’t,” Nesta interrupted. “Leave it alone, Elain.”

In a blink, she was gone. Feyre’s eyes met Elain’s in the mirror, and all she could muster was a defeated shrug of her shoulders in return.

Could have gone worse, she supposed.

—

[ Cassian ]

As it turned out, Cassian’s plan to catch up on his English readings while he did laundry wasn’t the success he intended. It had nothing to do with his interest in reading, but Shakespeare wasn’t his writer of choice by any stretch of the imagination. Mr. Day had been relatively understanding when Cassian explained his circumstances, granting him additional time to turn in his analysis of the assigned section. Explaining everything to his teacher had been an uncomfortable, yet necessary, evil if finishing senior year was in the cards.

Cassian huffed a long breath, laying the book facedown over his thigh and running his free hand through his hair. A quick glance at the dryer nearby showed another 25 minutes on the timer, but he didn’t have it in him to pick his book up immediately. He wasn’t sure what all the fuss was about anyway when he considered the plot. The story seemed like it would have played out with far less issue if the others had let Katerina live her life true to herself.

His eyes wandered to the large window along the storefront. A flash of golden brown hair, tied into a long french braid, caught his attention and had him tossing his book on a nearby chair. Nesta Archeron appeared to be leaving a cafe across the street, one of those artsy places that played only indie music and served a side of angst with their coffee.

Fitting, he mused.

Traffic was minimal at the time of day, and Cassian was able to cross the distance with a few long strides. He wasn’t entirely sure what he intended to say when he made it over to her. Rather than run straight into her path, he opted to ease to a stop at her car as a general midpoint. It had seen better days— not that Cassian could judge considering the age of his Jeep— but it was enough that he eased his weight against the side a little at a time to test its resilience. A vision of his larger-than-average form knocking a fender off her car didn’t seem like the best lead-up to a conversation.

Nesta’s eyes assessed him, but her expression gave nothing away. Cassian felt his lips pull into an easy smile.

“Nice car,” he drawled, bouncing his weight. The metal creaked in warning. “Vintage.”

“Wasn’t our last conversation painful enough?” she bit, unimpressed. “You’re following me now?’”

Cassian bristled, but he was determined not to let it show. “I was doing laundry across the street.” He nodded toward the laudromat. “I saw you leaving the cafe, so I came over to say hi.”

“Hi.” The dismissal was brutally efficient, but something about it called to Cassian in challenge.

Ms. Drake would have a field day with that information if he dared share it. Before he could think better of it, he slid over and perched against the driver’s side door. Nesta glared at him, and while that look probably leveled other guys on the regular, Cassian fought against a wide smile.

“Not much of a talker?”

“Depends. You haven’t said anything particularly interesting.”

Cassian blinked, settling deeper into his position. It had been a long while since anyone had ignited his interest so quickly, and he wasn’t ready for it to end. The fact that Nesta didn’t seem bothered in the least by the various rumors that haunted him was refreshing.

“You’re not afraid of me, are you?” His awe came through more than intended, but he didn’t regret it.

Nesta scoffed, and in the weird ways of the world, it softened her features somehow. “Why would I be afraid of you?” she asked, somehow looking down her nose at him. He was nearly a foot taller than her, for the gods’ sakes.

Cassian shrugged, his arms crossed over his chest. “Most people are.”

“Well, I’m not.”

An elaboration never came, but Nesta continued taking him in as if cataloguing the details for later. When her eyes finally met is, he offered a casual, sideways smile.

“So, you’re not afraid of me,” he began, gauging Nesta’s expression. Something in him wanted to disrupt all that careful control. “Maybe you’re picturing me naked.”

A million other things would have been better. Picturing him naked? Why in the hell had he said that?

Nesta blinked, blinked again. “How did you know?” she purred, but the cool glare she paired with it didn’t match her tone. Then, she deadpanned, “I want you— no, I need you.”

She squared her shoulders and yanked roughly on the handle of the door.Cassian eased off of it without resistance, especially considering he’d opened his stupid mouth and made an ass of himself enough. He did roll his eyes a bit at her mockery, though. He had to preserve some shred of his dignity.

Her case was made, so she didn’t spare another glance as she dropped into her seat and slammed the door shut. Cassian took several steps backward away from the car, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. Not yet.

Music, terrible and obnoxiously loud, sounded around them. It poured out of Tamlin’s sports car as he whipped into the parking lot, and unbelievably, parked behind Nesta and several other vehicles in his haste to get to wherever the hell guys like him spent their time. Cassian was annoyed on Nesta’s behalf, and squared his shoulders to tell him as much, until Nesta’s cutting words beat him to the bunch.

“Of course,” she muttered loudly, but low enough that only Cassian could hear. “Hey— Spring!” she yelled. “Do you mind?”

Tamlin continued his casual stroll between Nesta car and another. “Not at all,” he replied, knocking lightly on the hood of Nesta’s car. His pace never faltered, and he never looked back. Cassian resisted calling him a dick if only to avoid making things worse for Nesta.

Nesta’s eyes followed Tamlin, her jaw slack in disbelief. Her eyes darkened, and a menacing smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. Cassian didn’t have time to dissect it before Nesta’s hand reached for the shifter, and her car lurched backward into Tamlin’s precious sports car. At the sound of crunching metal, he spun around and looked on in horror at the state of his vehicle. The impact had shifted it away several feet, allowing Nesta adequate room to adjust and slip around it if needed.

Cassian had to give her points for ingenuity, at least.

“What did you do?” Tamlin yelled, a hand running through his usually styled hair. “You bitch!”

A growl erupted from Cassian’s chest, but no one heard it amidst the chaos.

“Whoops.”

Nesta’s carefree delivery dissolved Cassian frustration and pulled a rough chuckle from deep in his chest. She was none the wiser since her attention was wholly on Tamlin’s meltdown, her face fixed into an expression of innocence for good measure. Without deigning to offer any parting words, Nesta pulled out of her parking space and drove away as if she couldn’t be bothered with the aftermath.

The smile on Cassian’s face was frozen in place, and rather than fight it, he dipped his head and made his way back across the street. He didn’t need Tamlin seeing the clear signs of his amusement and channeling his rage toward Cassian, and he got the impression that maybe Tamlin could use the moment of privacy while he came to terms with Nesta’s retaliation.

Cassian supposed he hadn’t needed to worry about making things worse. Nesta was plenty capable all on her own.——————————————————————————

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#nessian #nessian au #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #10 things i hate about you fic #nessian high school au #not even at all #twsd fics #twsd writes

[sassygwaine]

For the character ask thing- Stede, of course :)

hell yes okay this took me a while i have a LOT of thoughts abt this guy

favorite thing about them

WHERE DO I START

he’s a total bitch and he’s the softest lil guy in the world, he picked flowers and wanted to marry for love, he’s gnc as fuck and is absolutely nutter butters, he feels a lot and very deeply and doesn’t know what any of the things he’s feeling are

he’s just like me fr

least favorite thing about them

total lack of consideration for other people as people!! even when he attempts to operate in service of other people, he bases his actions on assumptions rather than evidence, and ends up hurting people instead. the type of self-absorbed you can only be when you hate yourself.

favorite line

hi all!!

changed my fucking vocabulary

also “oh my god, i’m not a pirate, i’m an idiot!”

brotp

the stede & lucius & olu friendship trio is lovely

also i REALLY love the idea of mary & stede as friends and coparents (really only works in fan works, i don’t expect or anticipate it in canon)

otp

YOU ALREADY KNOWWWWW

blackbonnet, gentlebeard, ed/stede

notp

i’m gonna be real with y’all i don’t vibe with stede/ed/izzy or stede/izzy

random headcanon

i meannn you can pry autistic stede headcanon from my cold dead hands i will say that

unpopular opinion

i’m tired of posts talking about how stede sucks. we know. it’s literally the plot of the first four episodes! (arguably the entire show is stede is so bad at this and also occupying a space he doesn’t understand how to actually navigate bc he’s thrust himself into this world that was created because of people like him (societally, not specifically)) so idk i guess it’s just like ‘yes we know all of this and you spent hundreds of words talking abt it??? okay i guess’

song i associate with them

runaway goliath by mantaraybryn

'Cause you just wanna run away

While I’ll just stay and fight

Can you just be more brave

To fall from such a height

favorite picture of them

okay so i have had this image saved on my phone for a few months and i forget where i saved it from

however, reverse image search places it to a t-shirt design by @/general.caronobi on tiktok/insta

if that’s not the original credit somebody pls tell me

[ID: a three wolf moon style image with three stede faces: french party look, excited smile when the crew backs him in front of the firing squad, and when jackie holds a knife to his nose]

#ty friend :33 #ask game #i love this blorbo so much #asks